


And P.S... If This is Cheshire

by WatercolorHummingbird



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Britpicking Welcomed PLEASE!, Couch Sex, Crying, Everyone Is Alive, Exes, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Floor Sex, Friends With Benefits, Fuckboy Zayn, Hand Jobs, Kid Fic, Light Dom/sub, Lots of Sex, M/M, Making Love, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Model Harry Styles, Model Zayn Malik, Musician Louis Tomlinson, Non-Famous Harry, Oral Sex, Quiet Sex, Reunion Sex, Roommates, Single Parent Louis Tomlinson, Underage Sexytimes in a Flashback, Zayn is Nobody's Boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatercolorHummingbird/pseuds/WatercolorHummingbird
Summary: Three years ago, Harry & Louis were teenagers in love, then everything came crashing down. Louis left him and went and got famous and became a dad and left it all behind. Harry was shattered.Now he's nineteen and living in London with his roommate (and occasional friend-with-benefits) Zayn - and half-asleep at 1 AM, he's pretty sure he just heard Louis laughing in the living room.Or: Zayn and Harry are struggling fashion models and casual roommates-with-benefits until Louis, the “one who got away” suddenly reappears in Harry’s life, turning everything upside down and maybe, just maybe, giving a broken heart hope. [Contains Zarry & mild Zouis, but it’s definitely a Larry fic!]
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 100





	1. Back to You

_"I want to live in a castle one day," Harry cooed quietly as the sun set above them, far away._

_Louis would just nod, wordlessly agreeing._

_“A real one,” he would whisper, the two of them scandalously kissing under one or other’s bedsheets while their mothers were at work. “Like not built for some millionaire ten years ago. An actual castle where maybe a Lord or a Duke lived. And I could live there and pretend I’m a princess.” Seventeen-year-old Louis had squinted in confusion._

_“Not a prince?”_

_“Well... you’d be my prince,” and they’d kissed quickly again. Two teenage boys, almost high on a new love, stealing whatever moments they could to make every promise possible._

* * *

When he was fifteen, Harry Styles had fallen hopelessly and madly in love. And truth be told, he had never fully recovered. It didn’t matter that Louis was two years older and in no way interested in being “out” while still in school. When Louis had turned eighteen, he went to audition for X-Factor. And he made it through, which had meant moving to the judges’ houses and leaving Harry behind.

They didn’t speak for over three years.

They’d then grown up separately, Harry graduating and moving to London to pursue a possible modeling career, moving in with another beautiful, struggling youth named Zayn. Louis had gone on to be immensely famous and Harry would see him on TMZ and in tabloids, rubbing elbows with female underwear models he knew from work and actresses and singers, always playing the role of the prolific womanizer and yet - somehow - the private and sensitive songwriter who didn’t like to discuss his private life.

Louis had just turned twenty-one when the bombshell dropped.

He was a father. Harry could remember physically feeling his heart break as he read the headlines. A girl from Scotland had been killed in a car crash, beautiful and tall with curly hair so brown it was almost black. Stunning with green eyes. And she had left behind a two year old son, whose birth certificate touted famous British musician Louis Tomlinson as his father. According to the tabloids, he’d had no idea. They’d dated for a bit before he even officially won X-Factor, her role having simply been a girl working in the wardrobe department.

In high school, Louis had always been defiant in his insistence that he was not gay. Perhaps, Harry thought upon seeing the photos of Louis suddenly out and about with his brand new toddler, this was true. The child, named Deacon, looked just like Louis. Shimmering, crinkled green eyes, a mischievous little smile and perpetually unkempt brown hair sticking in every direction. It had to be his kid.

Maybe Harry was just a phase, a teenage experiment.

* * *

Harry had been living in London for less than three months and already hated how much of a tradition his isolation had become for him. His flatmate Zayn would try and talk him into some outing or industry party and he would decline, content to wrap himself up in too many thick blankets and power down a bottle of wine and burn through romantic comedies. _If you ever want to start WORKING working, Harry, you’re going to have to actually go out and let people SEE you._

It wasn’t always the exact same routine. Some nights Zayn would come home to find him sprinting on the treadmill, desperately trying to avoid his emotions and dedicate all his brain power to the exhaustion of exercise. Sometimes, he would be writing poems or even songs, but those words were only ever meant to be seen by his eyes only.

Tonight’s choice - and he really should have thought this through - was The Notebook. He had only managed to finish dinner and put away a glass and a half of wine. Noah rowed Allie through the river, surrounded by hanging tree branches and swans. He could feel the tears coming again, but held them at bay.

They had been so close and he had just disappeared one day and he was never going to get him back. He was a miserable wreck - couldn’t even move on like Allie had. At least Allie had a rich hot fiance and a future going for her. He’d had a few decent paying modeling jobs, but nothing longterm or anything that foretold of a real career. Harry was such a waste.

The rain had begun to fall onscreen when he heard the telltale sounds of Zayn coming home. The clock on his phone read that it was half of midnight, which was a somewhat early evening for his sexually indiscriminate, unpredictable roommate. He knew he was listening harder than he should be - mainly checking to see if he’d returned with a guest so he could arm himself with headphones and the Beatles or Fleetwood Mac. But he heard nothing - no feminine giggling or masculine grunting. No tumbling down the hall or Zayn shushing anyone, reminding them he had a roommate.

“Harry?” The tattooed, older boy bellowed down the hall. The object of his beckoning chose not to answer, instead wiping a few traitorous tears from his cheek. Zayn had already seen him crying far too many times since he’d moved in a little over four months prior.

He jumped a bit when his roommate quickly twisted the doorknob and almost burst in with a shocking level of exuberance and happiness. Harry was almost jealous. It had been _years_ and he hadn’t been genuinely happy. Not since the phone calls had stopped. Not since watching Louis perform week after week had become torture, rather than pride. Not since Louis had claimed to be “single and ready to mingle” after he’d made it into the top three. Not since Louis had forgotten about him.

Zayn had always been gorgeous, even to Harry’s completely platonic eyes, but tonight he had really gone all out. His black hair was shaved on the sides, spiked straight up with an strangely alluring blonde streak dyed on the front. Four days of stubble coated his chin and he’d donned black leather pants, a white t-shirt and a red plaid button-up shirt over it. For some reason, clients usually went for the dirty, “bad boy” persona rather than the cleancut look his mother was so vocally fond of. Harry had overheard several phone calls begging Zayn to shave and cut his hair and “How can you say you model clothes when they have your shirt off?! Daadi saw it and she called me in a fit!”

“What’s up, mate?!” Zayn shouted at Harry, clearly in an ecstatically tipsy state, his face dropping to a flat frown upon seeing Harry. “Oh come on, again?” He rolled his eyes as they met the television.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, man. Watch some action films or porn or something. Get your mind off it.”

“I hardly think porn will make me feel better,” he chuckled weakly, forcing a pained smile. “How was the party?”

“Boring, but I got a few business cards,” Zayn answered as Harry paused the movie. “I actually had two different people ask me to give some to you. They liked you in the pet store ad.”

“With that dickhead schnauzer?” He finally, genuinely laughed, and Zayn nodded.

“You got it, mate, I’m telling you. You just need to actually use it.”

“I appreciate that, Zayn, but I’d rather wallow in my sadness tonight if you don’t mind.”

His flatmate stood there, hesitant, but nodded reluctantly as he turned about. “If you want a pity party with a guest count, I’ll be in my room.”

“G’night, Zee.” Harry waved, and he bid Harry a meek farewell as he departed, leaving him to press play and continue on in his own punishment.

It wasn’t until Noah and Allie were kissing in the rain and soon tumbling into the renovated house that Harry realized he was crying. And not mild, polite, respectful flatmate crying. Full on sobbing at the top of his lungs, curled into a tiny ball with his blanketed knees pressed against his hot cheeks, nearly raw with tears.

And he jumped again as his door flung open this time.

“Alright, that’s it. You’re done. I can’t fucking take this anymore, mate,” and Zayn furiously fished for the remote in the blanket before he paused Harry’s movie. “You have got to stop. It’s driving me absolutely batty.” His flatmate refused to look up at him. “Hey!” He barked, gripping Harry’s ankles from above the blankets and pulling them out, revealing his melancholy face. “How long ago did he dump you?”

“He didn’t _dump_ me. He just… left and told me he would call and never did.”

“And that was, what? Two years ago.”

“...Three.” he begrudgingly admitted.

“Okay, so maybe he’s gonna come back one day. Maybe he’s not. But he’s not here right now and you don’t fucking OWE him your sadness! Even if he comes back, do you think he’d want to find out you’d literally sat around crying for years over his arse?”

“Zayn, he broke my heart.”

“So? He broke it three years ago. You owe it to yourself to at least TRY and move on. I haven’t even seen you try.” He spat and Harry met it with a simple, defeated shrug.

“I’ve been on dates.”

Zayn rolled his eyes.

“And you’re always home before ten, mate. Have you shagged anyone since he left?” Harry didn’t say anything as he dropped his head back down. “Or anyone else ever?” He shook his head and missed the slow, reserved sigh of resignation from Zayn.

“Alright. Take your clothes off.” The sobbing brunette snapped to attention.

“What?!” He froze, staring at Zayn. He couldn’t be serious.

“My sister always used to say the only way to get over your old bedmate is to get under a new one. Come on,” he made an “up” gesture with his hands.

Harry opened his mouth to object, but found nothing, his tongue and throat suddenly very dry. “I, uh, I- It’s just-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Zayn huffed, exasperated. “I have to do everything myself, don’t I?” And with that, he pulled the rest of the blanket off, seeing the same pair of pajama pants Harry almost always wore unless they had somewhere to be. It wasn’t until his fingers made contact with the strings on the rim of his pants when the air went oddly silent - except for the sound of muted sniffles from his would-be conquest.

He snapped his dark brown eyes back up to meet Harry’s, surprised to see the tears had started yet again.

“Oh… shit…” Zayn sat back up now, keeping his hands to himself. “Look, mate, I was half-kidding and this is definitely not something I’m gonna do if you don’t want it. I just…” He searched for the right words for only a moment. “I’d love to see you feel anything other than abject loneliness.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just,” he exhaled slowly, trying to catch himself and calm down, “what you said. You think - y-you think he might really come back one day? Like he’s my Noah?”

Zayn scratched the back of his head as if he were mulling over an appropriate answer.

“I think anyone who had you and let you go _like that_ is an idiot. But people grow. Maybe. Maybe one day.”

“But not right now,” Harry finally realized as Zayn nodded lightly. It was Harry then who took another forward step, reaching out to take hold of his flatmate’s already heavily tattooed forearm, and Zayn leaned towards him. He moved slowly, as if plotting for a kiss. “Wait.”

“Harry,” he grunted. “I swear to-”

“No,” he actually laughed this time, covering his lips with his free hand as a few light giggles escaped. “Would you be cool with me, like, taking a shower first?” Zayn cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve kind of been in my sad little hole for a few days and it’s been a while and trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

Zayn joined him in laughing nervously, awkwardly, and a bit excitedly.

“Sure.” And he stood up, extending his arm back to Harry to help him stand. “I’m gonna go grab some stuff. Meet you back here in a bit.”

“Nothing weird, right?” The green-eyed novice joked and Zayn stopped. “You’re not coming back with like, a flamethrower or a paddle or an inflatable farm animal, are you?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” and he winked, disappearing out of Harry’s door quickly.  
The reality of things hit Harry suddenly in the shower, his heart nearly beating out of his soapy chest. He’d never been with anyone but Louis. Sure, he’d been on boring dates with a few men who were far too forward. And yes, there had been a night or two when Zayn had dragged him to some god awful bar filled with like-minded gorgeous young men such as themselves and he’d wound up snogging in a bathroom stall, but once things started to progress any further, all he could think about was his ex. Pulling a drunk and horny American grad student off of his knees six inches from a toilet had become somewhat routine and decidedly unromantic.

Part of him just wanted to get it over with - moving on. Louis clearly had. Fuck, he had a KID and here Harry was, having not yet even touched another dick. And now he was going to. But it was different. Like, he _knew_ Zayn. He and Zayn were almost close friends.

 _We’re about to be a lot closer,_ he thought, laughing again. Part of him wondered if this was a bad idea, the other part didn’t care. Zayn was right. He needed to move the fuck on. Maybe this would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. At least he would have tried. He couldn’t possibly feel any sort of sadness or heartbreak worse than watching Louis confirm Harry was no longer his - and if his heart and his body didn’t belong to Louis anymore, he could do what he pleased.

And tonight, he thought as he turned the shower off, he was going to do Zayn. He cracked up nervously again as he ruffled the towel through his wet hair which no longer reeked of sadness and sweat. He caught the scent of the rather pricey tea tree shampoo he’d treated himself with three weeks ago as he opened the bathroom door.

His bedroom was completely - shockingly - different. He could hear a low, tame version of Zayn’s EDM-style house music, hypnotic and definitely atmospheric coming from a small bluetooth speaker in the corner. Glancing around, the room was filled with dozens of candles and there was his flatmate in only his boxer briefs.

Harry felt himself suddenly breathless. Not only was his room - well, fucking sexy - but so was his roommate himself. Several tattoos - including one or two poking out of the rim of the bright red undergarments that he suddenly felt himself quite curious about.

“Wow,” he coughed. “You - erm, the room looks amazing.”

“Yeah, well I figured a grown man doesn’t need twenty-seven candles in his room unless he’s gonna use them for something.”

Harry scoffed, crossing his arms in mock-offense, his towel tied around his waist. “I DO use them for something.”

“Meditation isn’t an activity. It’s the complete lack thereof.”

“Ya know-” he began, but was stunned as Zayn reached out and grabbed one of his arms, pulling him close into an unexpected kiss. Harry froze, unsure of what to do - unsure of what he was even allowed to do.

It was surprising how gentle his one-time lover was being with him, Harry’s fingertips gently meeting with his much darker, beautiful and tattooed arms. Zayn’s skin felt surprisingly soft against him, the young man having always seemed so rough and callous and withdrawn. But here he was, someone Harry trusted and respected. Even if it wasn’t necessarily romantic, he knew Zayn felt the same as his hand was suddenly on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Oh my God, Zayn was kissing him.

He should probably start kissing him back.

There was no way Zayn couldn’t feel Harry’s heart, reminding him of a sledgehammer or a jackhammer. Definitely some kind of hammer. There wasn’t the haze of young infatuation leading him to throw awkwardness aside and tell himself that nothing else mattered and there was no way he could embarrass himself. He could; but he could also feel Zayn smiling a bit as he kissed him back, still wearing only his towel.

He kissed Harry even harder, their newly entangled lips and teeth starting to smash against each other. Zayn was intentionally heating things up and he knew it, a bit relieved to allow him to take the lead. There was not a single argument that Zayn wasn’t more experienced. This was quite obvious as he spun Harry around suddenly, tossing him onto his own bed, which felt markedly different somehow than it ever did when he occupied it alone.

“Did you-” he attempted as Zayn straddled him, the two of them both chuckling to themselves, “did you change my sheets?” And he felt a quick shaking of a head as Zayn’s kisses began to move from his lips to his chin and then his neck, still gentle and tentative, as if he were waiting for Harry to change his mind.

“No,” his voice was muffled, breath hot against skin. Every single inch of his body responded, raising goosebumps Zayn no doubt felt, his left hand pinning down Harry’s right, the other kneading small circles into Harry’s prickly skin. “They were just the same sad sheets you been cryin’ in for two weeks so I threw my comforter on top.”

“It smells- fuck,” Harry drew in a sharp inhale upon Zayn shoving his tongue forward onto Harry’s neck, the pressure suddenly quite delicious. “Everything smells so good. You smell so fucking good.”

He reached down quickly for Zayn’s head, which had lowered a bit, now perched delicately in the middle of his chest, back up for a furious and far more desperate kiss.

“Mmm,” he moaned slowly as Harry felt him lick along his tongue. “All of the sudden, someone’s not so reluctant.”

“No I am,” he cried breathlessly, reaching down to remove the towel caging his waist where he was slowly getting hard. Finally, at least _physically,_ getting over Louis. He tried very hard to remove his ex from his mind as he continued, “this just feels really really good. I’m, erm, I’m gonna go with it and ask questions later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the brown-eyed boy winked, placing an unexpected bite on Harry’s bottom lip which, surprisingly, sent goosebumps once again all over his skin.

_Well. That’s new._

A newer sensation overtook him once he realized Zayn had sat back up and was staring squarely at the erection between his legs, eyes wide. Uncertainty? Insecurity?

“Um…” he chuckled. “Jesus, Harry. Really?”

“What?” He sat up on his elbows, markedly winded and suddenly unsure. “Is it-”

“I hope you’re o-right with me fucking you because that thing would put me in hospital,” he chuckled, biting his bottom lip in glee as he beheld him. Harry’s heart was still beating much too hard and fast, but calming now that Zayn seemed to not only approve, but be as excited and turned on as he was by the sight of his mate spread out near him. He was hard as well, his red boxer briefs tented with a small telltale wetness in the very front. Harry could almost feel his mouth watering at the visuals, the trance music still booming from the speaker in the corner. Zayn snapped, cocking an eyebrow as he awaited his flatmate’s answer.

“Oh, erm, yeah,” he laughed. “That’s very… it’s completely okay with me.”

“Good,” Zayn sighed, biting the corner of his pink, flushed lips. “I’ll make it fantastic for you - I promise.” He shifted his weight back on the bed until he sat squarely between Harry’s legs, gently running his hands up and down the slim tan legs, but still pale compared to his own. He was transfixed.

“Can you hand me the red bottle on your nightstand?” Harry merely pulled a confused face. The only things in his nightstand were a bunch of receipts and a sleep mask and some headphones along with a very old bottle of lube that was almost out and strictly used for wanking. Suddenly, realization hit him as he glanced over, surprised to see a few bottles - some opaque, some clear and -

“Zayn! How many times do you think we’re gonna fuck tonight?” He gawked, staring at the line of condoms. His roommate burst out laughing as he crawled over Harry. His leg brushed against his pitifully neglected cock and Harry drew in a tense breath. It had been far too long and he was convinced he was going to totally embarrass himself and come a few minutes in as it were.

“It was easier for me to just grab the line. I had to light all these sodding candles. Time was precious.” And he winked, uncapping the red top off of a clear bottle with a tiny flame logo on it. Harry assumed it was lube, but was a bit surprised when Zayn poured a generous amount into his own hands - and began rubbing them vigorously together.

He wasted very little time now, placing just a few quick kisses and bites up his legs and on the inside of his thighs, which brought a few incidental gasps and moans from Harry who still seemed quite keen on keeping quiet. He bit his lips, struggling to muffle his cries.

“You know,” his voice was suddenly lower as he knelt his exquisite face achingly close to Harry’s ample erection. “You’re a grown man now.” He wrapped one slender, elegant hand around his cock and his conquest gasped. Zayn’s hands were incredibly warm - almost hot. “You’re not at your mum’s. You don’t have to be quiet.” He kissed over his thighs and hips slowly, his breath hot and pressed his ample lips into his flatmate’s skin. My God, he was exquisite.

Harry felt almost dizzy now watching him as he licked upward from the base, only the very tip of his tongue touching him as it traveled up the expanse all the way to the slit. He spat gently onto the head of his cock, not so much even a spit as it was letting drool seep out of his mouth, mixing with Harry’s precome and holy fucking shit, this was so hot. Zayn’s hands were quite hot now around him and it had been forever since he’d even really _wanted_ to get fucked by anyone. Now he couldn’t wait.

“Zayn,” he choked out just in time to watch himself disappear halfway into his flatmate’s mouth, equally as wet and warm and so needed. “Oh my God,” his voice shook. Maybe it was because it had been _so long._ Maybe he had forgotten what having his dick acknowledged even felt like, but his head was spinning as he watched, still propped on his elbows. “Oh my God,” he cried a bit more frantic, Zayn’s head bobbing up and down, his right hand twisting around him as the left steadied him.  
It was sloppy and messy and his cheeks hollowed out as he sucked mercilessly on Harry’s underserved cock. Spit dripped and pooled from his mouth all over him, to the point that his entire crotch was wet, drool coating the inside of his thighs.

“Oh wow…”

His intoxication in everything soon turned to panic as he could feel a familiar, but much more powerful burning and pulling spinning just beneath his lower stomach. “Zayn, stop.” His chest and stomach were shaking. “Zayn, I’m serious. I’m gonna… come…. like any fuckin’ second!” He almost shouted but this glorious master between his legs didn’t let up and he soon gasped and moaned almost screamed as he spilled into his mouth. To his credit, Zayn didn’t back away or grimace in any way. He almost looked pleased with himself, smiling a bit as he let Harry finish, swallowing dutifully and kissing the tip of his cock as he sat up. He could hardly breathe, his legs and arms felt like warm jelly and Harry could swear he felt the blood moving through his veins, slow and thick like syrup.

That was embarrassing. It had taken almost no time.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly mumbled. Zayn smiled, shaking his head as he sat up, soon exiting his bed. Fuck, Harry thought. Good job, you completely humiliated yourself. “I’m so sorry.”

His more experienced suitor shook his head, giggling a bit.

“Don’t be sorry. I wanted you to come. That was kind of the point.”

“Oh. But I thought you wanted to… ya know-”

“I do.” He quickly stopped Harry’s profuse apologizing. “But if it’s been so long for you, I didn’t want the whole thing to be over in five minutes. Just wanted to soften the edge - dust off your cobwebs. Now you’re all relaxed and tingly and I can do what I want to you for as long as you want.”

He went over to Harry’s vanity in the back of his bedroom, which boasted an en-suite sink and Zayn commenced washing his hands.

“Not washing you off or anything, I just don’t wanna fingerblast you with warming lube on my hands. Talk about firehole,” he joked, sticking out his tongue in his reflection, staring at a still floating and very docile Harry.

“Does it burn?”

“On the inside? Fuck yeh. I’ve never wanted to end my life more than I did the night I made that mistake on myself.” He stared off into the distance, pensive. “Quite upsetting - made for a terrible end to an otherwise spectacular wank.” He shot Harry a wink as he dried off his hands and reached down to pull off his own undergarments.

While Zayn’s bum was surprisingly cute, Harry felt guilty as he thought “Louis has a cuter ass.” Especially at eighteen, it had been a perfect little bubble that sat beautifully atop his legs as if ten thousand angels themselves had placed it there. And he had to admit he’d spent more than a few nights wanking over paparazzi shots of him on yachts with super models in less than modest swimwear, cut down low to reveal tattoos and the gorgeous lines separating Louis’ torso from his legs. His ex had been perfection, but the immaculate Asian young man who turned around, erection at full mast, was a close second.

It felt awkward to look directly at his flatmate’s crotch as he propped himself up on his elbows. Zayn crawled towards him, reminding him very much of some 80’s hair band music video his mum used to watch. He seemed predatory in a way that wasn’t truly intimidating, more hypnotic and intoxicating. Harry couldn’t bring himself to look away.

He was only able to close his eyes when Zayn kissed him again, his hand soft behind his head as Harry laid back. His flatmate found his deserved spot - on his knees between Harry’s still tingling legs.

“So tell me, Mr. Styles,” Zayn mumbled into his lip, biting him again. “Have you ever wanked about me? Thought about me fucking you?”

“Never,” he sighed, gripping his arm. Zayn gasped, bucking away from him for a moment in mock offense - scoffing. “After getting my heart shattered, I try to not to get my hopes up. You’ve been fucking gorgeous since I moved in but this is all a complete surprise.” He kissed him far too hard. “But not unwanted.”

“Do you want me to open you up? Or do it yourself while I watch?”

“I thought you were a friend doing a friend a favor,” Harry’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively before spreading his legs a bit more. “Pamper me.” Slowly, he craned his head to his left, still marveling at the array of bottles Zayn had placed on his nightstand. “Um, which-”

“Blue lid,” Zayn quickly quipped, catching the small container as Harry tossed it. “Thanks, mate,” shooting him a wink. He poured what seemed like almost too much onto his hands, looking at Harry, his gaze a bit different now - almost soft.

“You sure you’re cool with all this?” He asked and Harry nodded, downright excited by now. “I just… I know that guy was your first and you were in love but we’re - we’re just friends.”

“I know.”

“And I just want to make sure you’re fine with us being just friends after this?” Another nod. “Because if I start finding _Mrs. Harry Malik_ written on all your things-”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Zayn, will you just shut up and fuck me, please?”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Malik.”

“I’m gonna hit you right in the face, I swear,” he laughed, the smile on his face dropping to a shocked ‘O’ as Zayn gently circled his rim, coating it with a bit of lube before he gently pressed in a single finger. The sensation of being touched by someone other than himself was ecstasy. “F-fuck,” his deep voice shook. “I forgot how good that could feel.” Almost breathless.

The two said nothing as Zayn slowly spread him open with his thin, skilled fingers, slowly adding one at a time. Eventually, there were three deep within him and he was once again hard as a rock, his roommate’s hand less gentle now, Harry’s mouth hanging open so sinfully. His lips were pink and plump and flushed and perfect as he bit into them, eyes shut tight. His feet were pulled up close to his ass on the bed, knees bent and high. Harry’s dark brown curls were still slightly damp, brushing against the tops of his ears. He was writhing, practically fucking himself onto Zayn’s fingers, desperate for the slightest brush against the bundle of nerves within his heat. But he was afforded no such luxury.

“Zaaaayn,” his voice shook. He was a frantic, slutty little mess now, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, completely hard again and begging to be fucked. “Please… please…” He could barely hear himself over the blood rushing through his ears and the slowly-healing heart thundering within his chest. His flatmate’s fingers were still in him, opening back and forth but no longer moving inward and back out. “Please,” he implored him, sitting up to grab his face and press him into a frenzied kiss with far too much tongue and far too little self-control. “You promised…”

He expected Zayn to chuckle or smile again but his gaze was serious, flat and would have been quite scary if Harry didn’t know him as well as he did. The boy with black hair above him pushed him back down, his free hand twisting softly into his curly hair, the sweat on his scalp slowly transforming them into messy loose ringlets. The fingers brushing against his scalp were gentle and his more aggressive hand left the confines of his body to grab one of the nearby condoms.

Their blown out eyes never left each other as Zayn coated himself in the lube from the green bottle. His flatmate couldn’t breathe. He unwrapped the condom and rolled it down his cock. Harry was equally anxious and terrified and enraptured as he watched Zayn coat his hands and erection with lube. Zayn’s erection was tanned, sporting one large, very prominent vein and it was nowhere near as gorgeous as Louis' manhood, but he was here and beautiful nonetheless. He was kissing Harry a bit too hard as he pressed into him and the stretch and the burn and the sting was surprising.

“Ow…” Harry choked out a bit, bringing the back of his hand to his shaking lips and the young man on top of him froze.

“Are you okay? We can stop.”

“I’m fine,” his voice trembled more than he had meant it to. He didn’t know whom he was trying to convince - himself or Zayn. “I’m fine.”

“Harry-”

“I’m fine, Zee, it’s just obviously,” he coughed a bit, “been a while.” He hated the traitorous, silly tears running down his cheeks. “Can you- like- Zayn, please,” he kissed his worried face. “Please fuck me, Zayn. You promised.”

There were no more words left in him as Zayn withdrew his cock for only a second before gently yet forcefully thrusting back into him, keeping their eyes locked to check for any more pain on Harry’s part. A slow smile spread across his face as Harry shut his eyes, biting his lips until they were almost bleeding. For the first few minutes, his fingers were digging to Zayn’s back and scalp. Eventually, very very slowly - it started to feel _kind of_ good.

“Oh yes,” he moaned a bit now as his lover’s cock pressed repeatedly - at a snail’s pace - into such a tight hole, stroking his prostate so very gently. “Oh my God, yes... Right there. Thats… that’s perfect.” His voice was low. Harry was grateful Zayn had used almost too much lube, which soon helped to escalate his thrusts to a rapid fire pace. He repeatedly pounded into him, fucking him harshly into the bed in which he’d cried himself to sleep so many nights. It was filthy - the sound of Zayn’s hips smacking into Harry’s thighs - Harry’s wanton gasps and moans and curses filling the air. Harry’s knees were almost touching his chest. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou-” he mumbled against Zayn’s cheek. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

His hands were tight around the back of Zayn’s head now, Zayn’s forearms supporting his own weight as Harry was safe between them, his sweaty forehead pressing into his tattooed chest. “Fuck! Oh my Gooood,” he cried out, letting his eyes roll back into his skull and throwing his head backwards as well.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Just enjoy yourself.”

He was normal. Harry was finally a normal nineteen year old. He hadn’t just lost his virginity to a guy in school and was still sobbing over him almost three years later. He was shagging someone else, getting over him by getting under someone new. Somebody who was currently fucking the living daylights out of him, his lips wet on Harry’s cheek with Harry’s rock hard erection leaking as it pressed against his stomach.

“You’re so hot getting fucked by me - you have no idea,” Zayn’s voice was gruff, winded his efforts, his whisper so close to his ear. He bit Harry again - slightly harder underneath his earlobe and Harry almost finished right then.

Instead, he managed to gather his resolve and focus just long enough to grip his paramour’s bicep.

“Hold on.”

“What’s up?” Zayn was basically panting as he stilled for a moment.

“I just… can I ride you?” Harry asked, grateful to see Zayn’s dark eyes widen excitedly as a titillated smirk crawl across his beautiful, exotic face.

“Oh, definitely.”

He pulled out and rolled over onto his back next to Harry, the candles flickering and making every inch of him looking particularly delicious. The younger of the two winced a bit as he sat up, his arse already a bit sore from having been deprived of cock for so long, only to be getting currently destroyed.

Harry straddled him, chucking it a bit as he requested, “Can you scoot a little bit more to the center of the bed? I don't wanna slip.”

Zayn nodded, chuckling a bit and moving to his right. Soon, he was enjoying the sight of Harry lowering himself back down. He disappeared back inside him and cried out just a bit. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking tight, Harry.”

“..s-so good,” was all his cohort could manage as he began to grind and roll his body on top of him.

“Shit,” Zayn sighed, looking up at him as if he were a majestic warrior queen riding into battle. “You…whoa.”

Harry leaned back now, his cock red and trembling, almost angry as tiny pearl beads dripped from the slit into Zayn’s bellybutton. He was so close now, mindlessly bouncing onto him and frantically chasing his second orgasm in the last half hour.

“Zayn?” His voice was so hoarse and pained and desperate.

“Yeh?”

“Close?” Harry asked and Zayn could only nod, his eyes shut tight.

He leaned forward, afraid to fall as he wrapped a shaking and exhausted hand around himself, jerking furiously. He was grateful for Zayn, who gripped his hips far too hard and began to thrust quickly and brutally upward as Harry stroked his leaking cock as fast as he could. Zayn’s pace was rhythmic and messy, pounding and brushing his prostate over and over and over, Harry’s voice filling the room with desperate gasps and whining and absolutely sinful deep moans. He grunted loudly and longly, a sound almost more animal than human as he finally came, ribbon after ribbon of spectacularly hot come painting Zayn’s chest. A little bit even streaked across his cheek as Harry’s hole clenched with his release, sending the man underneath him equally over the edge. Stars and fireworks exploded behind his eyes and all over his brain and arms and legs and stomach.

“FUUUUUUUCK!” Zayn screamed, thrusting just a few more times until his own orgasm finally slowly subsided and Harry collapsed next to him, completely spent in every possible definition of the word.

“Oh…” Harry choked on his own saliva, somehow forgetting how to speak properly. “Oh wow.” He turned to meet Zayn’s eyes and for reasons completely unbeknownst to them, they both burst out laughing. The two stared at his ceiling, cackling together as they struggled even harder to catch their breath. “Well, this was a surprising end to my night,” The younger of the two chuckled. “Guess I understand why everyone you bring home is so bloody loud,” he teased, his smile beaming.

Pride bloomed for a second across Zayn’s face before he turned to Harry. “No regrets?”

“None yet, but I’ll keep you updated,” he playfully slapped the tan arm next to him. “Is it weird to say ‘thank you’ again? I feel like I should say ‘thank you.” His eyes were getting droopy as Zayn shrugged.

“I mean, I normally prefer presents or fruit baskets, but you’re welcome.” He joked and with that, he sat up. Zayn kicked his legs around a bit before he stood, just to make sure he wouldn't wobble or fall like some newborn baby deer. His entire body was covered in sweat as he walked to Harry’s bathroom, not sure if Harry was even watching him. After he tossed the condom into the trash, Zayn used a nearby flannel to clean his flatmate’s spunk off of his chest and face along with the generous amount of lube that coated his groin.

“You want me to stay here with ya tonight or do you want some space?” He called into the bedroom as he washed the lube off of his hands. “I can go sleep in mine if you’d like.” No response. “Harry?” Still nothing. “Mate?”

He was drying his hands when he reentered the room, smiling peacefully upon the sight. Harry was completely asleep, a relaxed, content grin on his pursed pink lips. His roommate wasn’t crying, wasn’t feeling sorry for himself for once. Harry looked blissful, breathing slowly.

Zayn took a few minutes to blow out the copious amount of candles and lower the volume of his music. Spying a thick and comfortable-looking quilt tossed onto a chair in his room, he grabbed it and fell back into bed with one of his best friends, almost immediately submitting to sleep himself.

“Baby steps,” he murmured as he shut his eyes. “I’ll get you there.”

The next morning, the smell of breakfast was already overpowering in their small shared flat and Harry was sure that was what finally roused Zayn from his bed where he’d left him. He’d made them breakfast before, and he didn’t want to seem overzealous, but he wanted to thank Zayn and this seemed the proper way. Plus, he didn’t have to spend very much, having returned from the shop about a half hour ago to find Zayn still asleep.

“Morning!” He yelled and received only a half-asleep nod. Despite being only twenty, Zayn had the morning constitution of a crotchety old man. He was useless until he’d had at least two cups of coffee and a cigarette.

“Smells good,” he weakly smiled, mumbling as he sat on the barstool across from Harry and the countertop.

“I did eggs, pancakes and bacon.”

“Oh, erm-” Zayn began, but Harry quickly interrupted him.

“It’s okay. I went out this morning and got some turkey bacon. You’re fine.”

His roommate finally smiled a bit, scratching the back of his head as he took his plate from Harry, who stared at him with oddly excited anticipation.

The pancakes were heart-shaped and Harry had written on them with one of the fancy chocolate icing pens he’d gotten from Gemma for his birthday. _Mrs. Zayn Styles._

“What do you think?” And he couldn’t hold back his laughter, holding a piece of bacon in his mouth as he chuckled. “I think it has a better ring to it than Harry Malik.”

“I’m gonna eat my breakfast, drink some coffee, have a smoke and then I’m gonna beat your arse.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry giggled with him, eating his normal circular pancakes from his standing spot at the counter.

“Speaking of your arse, um, like… How is everything?”

“Actually fine. It, um,” he struggled to find the right words, his brow furrowing deeply, “I’m way more okay with everything than I thought I would be. I’m just grateful for our friendship. I’m serious. Thank you, Zayn.”

He smiled back at Harry, shrugging as if it were no big deal. And it wasn’t.

Things weren’t awkward or forced from then on. The two stayed close friends, Harry slowly being called to more and more auditions, finally acquiring actual modeling jobs with clothes instead of animals or sandwich shop ads.

And sometimes they’d go out to bars and clubs together, stumbling drunk into their flat before Zayn would slam him up against the wall and kiss him sloppily and they’d wind up fucking on the couch, laughing afterwards as they went to their separate bedrooms. Once, after an audition had gone particularly sideways for Harry, Zayn actually let him top. He immediately regretted it as he could barely manage to stand the next day, let alone walk. His first runway show was only a few days later and a friend had luckily found him a few painkillers to get through it. After that, Zayn had sworn off allowing Harry to fuck him. _Never again,_ he had spat three weeks later as he flipped Harry over on the kitchen floor and destroyed him while their frozen pizza burned slightly in the oven.

Over the next four or five months, their roomies-with-benefits situation remained incredibly casual, even Harry surprised with his own ability to avoid catching feelings. If anything, he just felt himself returning to normal - feeling as happy and excited for his future as he did at sixteen before he’d gotten his heart smashed into tiny little shards.

He went on a date or two and even found himself getting physical a few times - but never anything like what had happened with Louis or Zayn. As desired as he was slowly becoming in both the modeling and dating world, he still kept actual intercourse close to his heart. That act only belonged to people who truly knew him and loved him. Zayn did love him, even if it wasn’t anything romantic or filled with promises. He couldn’t allow someone inside his body who didn’t already have a place inside his heart.

Zayn still shagged _almost_ all comers, but they used condoms and Harry wasn’t in love with him, so what did he care? Zayn was gonna Zayn.

* * *

It was an incredibly cold night a few months later, very close to Christmas. Harry was curled in his gigantic, thick down comforter watching another sappy Hallmark special when Zayn left his bedroom looking rather handsome.

“Who you so dressed up for?” He asked, mouth filled with popcorn.

“Oh just a holiday party at SONY!” He yelled the last word, almost jumping with excitement. “Fuck that Andrew Garfield kid, you’re looking at the future ‘first Pakistani Spiderman,’ mark my words.” Harry lazily clapped, only half-listening as the attractive white heterosexual couple kissed and snow fell around them and some godawful original Christmas song by an up-and-coming popstar began to play.

“Sounds fun.”

“You wanna come with me? There’s gonna be actual celebrities there this time. Real ones. Movie stars, Victoria’s Secret models,” he winked, “and I’ve been texting all day with this gorgeous singer-musician guy who likes to fuck me when he’s in town.”

Harry didn’t look up from the television.

“STYLES?!”

“OH MY GOD! WHAT, ZAYN?! I NEED TO FIND OUT IF HIS STRUGGLING SNOWGLOBE SHOPPE IS GOING TO GET SHUT DOWN BY HER GREEDY, PROFITS-OBSESSED FATHER!” Zayn just stared. “Christmas is about more than the presents, you know.”

“...his shoppe will be fine, Harry. It’s Hallmark.”

“I know but it’s the _journey._ ” Another beat, the familiar, reluctantly amused smile spreading across Zayn’s face. “What did you ask me?”

“Would you like to accompany me to a big industry party at Sony where we will be seen by casting agents and directors? Also, I plan on going home with a beautiful Northman. Maybe I could bring him back here and we can double team him?” Harry raised his eyebrows, unsure if Zayn was kidding. He looked almost hopeful for a yes. “Please? Come on, you can make it my Christmas gift.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the prospect.

“He sucks a mean cock. I promise.”

As beautiful as his flatmate was and how epic their bedroom antics always were, sex with him and a random man he barely knew was not something he craved. He shook his head ‘no’ and Zayn rolled his eyes.

“Pass. Emphatic pass.” He shoveled another handful of popcorn into his mouth, “What’s the weather like tonight?” Harry finally followed.

“Um,” Zayn opened his phone, “Raining and two.”

The toasty young man warm in his blanket laughed heartily, shaking his head as he turned back to his movie. “No. No way. Fuck that with a crowbar. You have fun freezing to death in the rain while dry humping some stranger.”

“Gladly,” Zayn spat, reaching over to grab a scarf and fedora off of their hatrack before opening the front door. “Don’t wait up!” He called and Harry looked up just in time to watch the door shut behind him.

“ZAYN THAT’S MY HAT! I’ve had it for-” Slam. “Years. Fuck.” He spoke now to himself, turning back to the television, somehow still anxious for the fate of the snowglobe shoppe - and the fate of his fedora. He really loved that hat.

* * *

The young up and coming model had been at the party for three hours, chatting up a casting director for the BBC when he suddenly felt a pair of small hands wrap around his head, immediately blacking out his vision and nearly knocking his hat off. He already knew who it was - the two having been making sinful plans all day in their text exchange. That and nobody else smelled like him - an oddly sexy combination of cigarettes and cologne and hairspray and food much too cheap for someone with his net worth. Zayn wanted wanted to play dumb. Why not? Hooking up with the same person more than once or twice could get stale if you weren’t careful.

“James Arthur?” He joked, knowing his sarcastic jab would be met with his part-time lover’s light, uplifting laugh.

“Sod off,” he chuckled, releasing Zayn from his grasp and stepping around him to give him a quick hug. Despite being younger than the celebrity embracing him, who always had dozens of eyes on him, Zayn was taller. Ending their hug, his conquest reached forward and shook the casting director’s hand.

“John, I see you’ve met Zayn Malik.”

“Indeed. He’s actually got quite an exotic look.” The comment stung a bit, whether it was a proposition or a visual observation and he felt a squeeze on his shoulder.

“Mind if I steal him away for a bit? Looking for a few blokes to do a music video and I have some questions.”

The BBC gentleman nodded, allowing the two finally depart on their own.

“That was shitty.”

“I’m used to it,” Zayn shrugged, pulling himself and the man (whom he hoped to have on all fours later) towards the bar.

“You shouldn’t be. Want me to kick his ass?”

“Oh yes,” Zayn rolled his eyes, “I’m sure your reps would just love that headline.” He laughed at the fashion model’s comment, staring as he signaled the bartender.

“Would you like a drink?” He offered, biting his bottom lip hungrily, looking Zayn over as he ordered a pint for himself.

“No thanks, I’m driving.”

“Oh are you? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen your car.”

Zayn watched as the musician took a sip, thirsty himself for something quite different.

“You didn’t bring the Rover?”

“Management had a car bring me…” the celebrity was staring, but his gaze was directed upward, his eyes suddenly dark and curious. “Where’d you get that hat?”

“Oh, erm,” he wanted to tell the truth, but this man was a born hipster and "borrowed it from my roommate" was so boring. Zayn had heard him passionately hate popular foods and shows and bands everyone loved. What would make a hipster even hornier? What’s a little white lie between shags?

“Got it at a thrift shoppe,” and the man across from him nodded, seemingly deep in thought. “So,” Zayn fished for something to say other than _‘let’s go somewhere we can fuck.’_ “Are you really casting for a music video?” He shrugged, trying to look casual. “Not like, pressing you for a job. Just always on the look out.”

“That I am,” he smirked, drinking his beer a bit quicker than he normally would. Zayn hoped he was aching to get out of here just as badly. “The concept isn’t too complicated. Just a lads night out at the pub.” He winked. “Wanna come get drunk with me and get paid for it?”

“I’d get drunk with you for free, but a paycheck is a lovely bonus.” Harry suddenly popped into his mind momentarily. “If you need more than just me, my flatmate models as well and-”

Zayn wasn’t able to finish his thought before the other young gentleman spoke. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Thank God. Yes,” he spat as he watched him finish his beer and the two quickly hightailed it away from the party, finally finding a moment to snog frantically in the lift.

“Where’s your car?” He spat filthily, his hands already far too warm underneath Zayn’s shirt against his tattoos.

“I valeted it,” he answered, eliciting a frustrated grunt from the music man who currently had him pressed up against the lift’s cold gray walls. “I could hit the alarm button - suck you off right here.”  
The singer shook his head, pursing his pink lips evilly. “Nah, love. I don’t fuck in public.”

“I dunno - I don’t think your fans would mind the photos.”

“My manager would,” and he bit at Zayn’s lip before moving his tongue down to his neck, leaving what would be a purple love bite just above his collar bone.

“Oy!” The model spat, gently slapping his head, the new haircut reminding him of some Cillian Murphy show he and Harry had watched a few times. “No marks. I have a shoot on Monday.”

“They’ve never heard of makeup?”

“If I can’t shag you in a lift then you can’t leave bruises on me.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, smiling devilishly as the doors finally opened on the ground floor, the two each taking a moment to smoke separate cigarettes.

Zayn waited until the valet was out of earshot before he asked quietly, “So are we going to go shag in your big fancy mansion? Bend you over that ridiculous king bed?” He winked, the pair of light blue eyes next to him crinkling as he took a drag and shook his head.

“As mindblowing as that sounds, it’s going to be a no.” Zayn wasn’t able to hide his disappointment. “Nothing personal, love, it’s just my son’s there and my sisters are babysitting him.”

“Oh- you have a son?” His paramour nodded, momentary pride blooming on his stubbled face. “You’ve just never mentioned him before.”

“Never had a reason to bring him up, but yeah he’s three. Me sister is fifteen so I’m letting her do her first overnight babysitting job. Told ‘em they shouldn’t wait up for me.” He winked.

Zayn licked his lips in anticipation, looking up as the vehicle came around the corner. “We’ll go to mine,” he whispered.

He’d only had him over once before, around two months ago when the musician had been back in London following his hometown show up North. Harry had been out of town, celebrating his mum’s birthday in Cheshire and Zayn had taken every opportunity to both shag and get shagged in the kitchen and on top of their coffee table.

It felt quite scandalous, especially when his occasional night stand and his roommate had managed to miss each other by a mere half hour.

The two made out for a bit more once he parked the car, hot hands and skin pressing against each other before the boy with beautiful blue eyes begged him to take him inside his flat and fuck him until he was screaming.

“You can’t be too loud. My flatmate’s home this time.”

“Mmm,” he bit Zayn’s tongue harder than he meant to. “Really?” The model nodded. “Is he as gorgeous as you?” His mind reeled, the singer sucking on his tongue, reaching up to brush the hat off of Zayn’s head, taking a moment to inspect it. He seemed more curious, but his face froze and fell as he found something inside.

“He’s beautiful. Shit-” Zayn yanked the hat away, tossing it into the floorboard he thrusted helplessly into the air, desperate for any touch. It was raining and the run to the door was going to be almost painful. He needed to pull as much warmth out of their vehicular tryst as he could. “He’d look so goddamn pretty riding you while I fuck your mouth.”

“Oh my God, let’s-” he threw his arm towards the building door. “We have to get inside.”

Zayn threw the hat back on and they didn’t say much else, running through the freezing rain into the skyscraper, the young men taking the chance to furiously kiss once more when they were inside.

The flat Zayn shared with Harry was on the fifth floor - not a long trek - but they were both wet and frigid from the rain and only started snogging and pawing at each other to warm up in another lift trip that felt like ages. He always felt a bit embarrassed whenever he brought home more affluent conquests, his and Harry’s various things and chotchkies coating the entire environment; the obvious signs of two young men without tons of money doing the best they could. ABBA posters and a Stevie Nicks album next to their turntable. He took off his hat as they entered, grateful to see his flatmate had clearly already gone to bed.

“Jesus Christ, I need to fuck you as soon as humanly possible but I’m - I’m freezing.” Zayn mumbled. Hanging the fedora on the hat rack, he turned around only to be pushed into the wall where his conquest kissed him harshly and pulled at his shirt, seemingly desperate to get both of them out of their wet clothes. “You stay here. I’m gonna go grab us some towels and maybe make us coffee?”

“Coffee?” The shorter man wrinkled his nose before laughing heartily, almost too loudly. “You’re such a traitor. I’ll have a Yorkshire tea.”

“Agreed. Let’s dry off first. Be right back.”

Zayn disappeared for only a moment, soon returning with two towels to find the singer with one of their framed entryway table photographs in his hands, eyes wide. Zayn walked up, handing him the towel as he took view of the photo. There were about twelve or fifteen young men in it, all beautiful and tall and fashion models - a backstage group photo he and Harry had taken at their first ever runway show together a few months ago.

“You like that?” He asked, kissing the back of his shoulder. “Tom Ford show earlier this year.”

“Um, yeah. You look - you look amazing.” The musician sat the photograph back down - face down, oddly - and turned to Zayn. He smirked as the musician, a shorter man than he, merely ruffled it through his hair and opted to take off his own shirt, a few nonsensical tattoos on his arms and toss his wet clothes onto the hardwood floor. He pulled Zayn back into another hot, furious kiss.

“I thought you wanted tea,” he chuckled beneath his lips, a smile forming.

“Forget the tea, I want the D,” the singer spat and Zayn burst out laughing, the man joining him as well.

“That was awful.”

“I’m so sorry.” He winked, “let me make it up to you.”

They tumbled together towards the couch, tripping over Harry’s gold booties he’d left on the floor. Soon he found himself straddling his date, his shirt still on but the belt buckle on his jeans being pulled away passionately as their lips stayed entangled.

“Do you want to see-” he mumbled as his frigid hand palmed the scorching heat between Zayn’s legs and Zayn craned his head back, gasping. “Do you want to see if your roommate wants to join us?” He flexed his eyebrows up and down suggestively before Zayn nodded and bellowed.

“HARRY! GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE!”

And the hand on his thickening cock froze.

* * *

It was almost midnight before Harry had finally decided it was bedtime, putting up the ice cream and tossing out the popcorn and soda he was consuming. The Christmas movie marathon had grown stale and he was sure Zayn would be sneaking in early the next morning, having quietly and sneakily left the comfort of another strangers’ bed, always preferring to wake up in their flat.

He hadn’t fallen in love with him, luckily, but it did warm his soul that Zayn often spent the night in his bed after they’d slept together. He told Harry he didn’t feel the need to leave or escape because he was already home. He knew where everything was in both he and Harry’s rooms. He felt safe and protected and knew the doors were locked and no errant boyfriends or girlfriends or kids or husbands or wives or parents were going to come barging in unannounced.

Zayn could sleep in Harry’s bed and it caused no problems for either of them, save for the fact that Mr. Malik was a blanket hog.

But tonight was all his and he would be able to starfish in the center of his bed. He could even choose to blast Adele at the top of his speaker’s capacity. He had the entire flat to himself.

What was a typical gay nineteen-year-old boy to do?

About an hour later, after opening himself up slowly, Harry roughly fucked himself with one of his favorites - a petite baby blue vibrator with gold and silver sparkles. His free hand mercilessly and sloppily stroked his magnificence, coated in lube and full with spunk and optimism. It took only about ten minutes for him to come, moaning and shouting as he shot several spurts onto his own stomach, grateful he’d already had a flannel ready nearby. He was sleepy, his breath and heart rate slowly returning to normal after filling his blood with molasses again, his hands and feet tingling.

The blessed veil of sleep was coming and he simply pulled the comforter up over him.

Eventually, he would have to get up and turn off his light, so he rolled his eyes. He finally got up, pulling on his pyjama pants before flicking the off-switch.

It was then that he heard the front door slam open, two male voices snogging and stumbling and laughing. He had assumed Zayn wasn’t coming home and felt a relief roll over him that he hadn’t been wanking in the living room or still screaming out his orgasm when they’d arrived. He stood near the door, smirking and giggling a bit as he finally heard his flatmate speak. Zayn’s voice was lustful and breathless - a very familiar tone.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled to whomever he’d burst through their front door with. “I need to fuck you as soon as humanly possible but I’m - I’m freezing.”

Harry debated standing there at the door, massaging his cock and wanking off yet again while listening to his best friend fuck some random musician. It certainly would not be the first time he had gotten himself off to the sounds of Zayn’s entanglements. He was certain his mate had done the same the night he’d brought home a bartender whom he’d gone down on only to have him pass out before remotely pleasing Harry.

The young man had been gone maybe five minutes the next morning before Zayn exploded into Harry’s room, voice low and urgent, angry at their guest for not pleasing Harry properly. He’d had to have heard. They’d wound up having sex for almost three hours that morning, his flatmate growling “He didn’t take care of you - not like I can.” They only stopped because their agent had called with an audition offer for Harry that he needed to attend at noon.

He was halfway hard again when he heard Zayn’s conquest laugh. He heard it and his heart shuddered in his chest and he swore he felt his extremities freeze. His stomach dropped to his knees and all the air left his lungs.

That laugh - that fucking laugh. He hadn’t heard it in three years, filling his living room while his mum and Gemma were at work. He hadn’t heard that laugh since it coasted over his neck as his then-eighteen-year-old boyfriend made love to him, giggling about how excited he was to get famous and make Harry his little trophy boyfriend and shower him with untold riches and all of the finest things. He hadn’t heard that laugh since Louis had played Danny in Grease and Harry had been in the front row opening night. Fuck.

That was Louis.

Fuck.

A singer from the north. A real celebrity. A musician who _liked to fuck Zayn when he was in town._ He could feel bile and vomit rise in his throat and wretched as the thoughts overcame him, merciless as he heard the boy ask Zayn for a Yorkshire tea.

That was Louis. God, why? Fuck.

A light spinning sensation started to overtake him and he was sure he was going to pass out.

He could hear them carelessly kissing, wet and horny and falling and tumbling over things.

Why, God, why?

“I thought you wanted tea,” he heard Zayn chuckle as the two continued to make out and he truly wanted to die.

“Forget the tea, I want the D,” the sickeningly familiar voice spat and he felt himself rage. He and Louis had dated for almost a year and a half before he had bailed on him - and he had always mocked Harry, albeit lovingly, for his dorky puns and bad jokes and here his ex was, about to blow his flatmate and MAKING TERRIBLE PUNS!!! How dare he!

Harry was shaking and stepped away from the door now. Maybe he could take a shower or drown them out with his headphones. It was only when he heard Zayn’s voice ripping through his door that he stopped.

“HARRY!” Oh fuck.

God no.

God, why?

“GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE!” Zayn bellowed. What the hell? He simply stood completely still. Still frozen. Still shattered. Still suddenly just as heartbroken as he had been three years ago.

This was worse than watching him decry any relationship on national TV. This was worse than the six months that followed waiting for Louis to call and see if maybe he’d misunderstood or if they were still together. Everyone he told about Louis made fun of him, so after a while, he’d just shut up. He’d never even told Zayn his ex’s name. Eventually, he started to wonder if he’d imagined the entire thing. Maybe Louis had never loved him. Maybe Louis wasn’t into boys at all, he’d told himself.

But here Louis was, probably already getting a filthy handjob from Zayn on their couch. Fuck. Fuck.

“HARRY! COME ON, MATE! I’VE GOT A BEAUTIFUL MAN HERE WITH A BEAUTIFUL COCK FOR US!”

The words stung. He could hear some muttered talking that sounded like Louis trying to shush and beg Zayn for something. That was definitely Louis. Harry had two options. He could either cower in fear and eventually, Zee would come knocking at his door.

Or he could open that door - and rip off the bandaid he’d been avoiding for almost half a decade.

Breathing in deeply, Harry took a moment to mask his curly, unkempt hair, deciding upon one of Zayn’s random forgotten snapbacks from his bedside, and tore the door away.

* * *

“Zayn, no no no no…” Louis had begged him that night several years ago, desperate to get up and at least put a shirt on. The hat. The stupid fancy shoes. The fucking picture. God, how could he have been so stupid? There were even the posters and albums of bands Harry had loved. Fuck!

He had shagged Zayn here before. Had Harry been here? No. No Zayn had only brought him back _because_ his flatmate had been out of town.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The two men on the couch jumped as the door in front of Louis flew open.

Somehow - he couldn’t explain why - he hadn’t expected him to look like any time had passed. In Louis' mind, Harry had remained sixteen. He remembered him shorter and paler, with a gargantuan - almost cheesy - smile. His hair had been perfectly curled and so close to his face. Harry had been almost the same height as Louis three years ago.

The man who stood before him had long since left sixteen-year-old Harry Styles in the dust. He was shirtless in pyjama bottoms, his dark hair tucked quickly under a baseball cap. His skin was tanned and golden and toned, a soft six-pack just above a light line of downy hair leading towards the tie on his PJ’s. He was so much taller and his baby fat had all but vanished.

Harry was a man now - and a stunningly gorgeous one at that. Louis was torn, all of the blood draining from his face and making him dizzy at the terror of encountering his ex while in such a compromising position and the immense attraction he still held for him. Why here? Why now? Why was Zayn still on his lap? He continued to stare at Harry, arm crossed angrily over his chest. His plump, perfect pink lips were pursed and expressionless, as if he were holding something back.

His eyes were still a bright green, even now as livid as they were, staring the two of them down. Louis' mouth was taut and dry, struggling for any words. Even “hi.” But he summoned nothing.

“What’re you staring at? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost,” Zayn chuckled, turning around and still maintaining his devastating smile as he too looked at Harry. And his smile fell.

His gaze darted quickly back and forth between the two, absolutely no sound in the room as Louis and Harry simply stared. Louis a deer in headlights, Harry an angry motorist almost seeming to press his foot down even harder on the gas, hoping the fucking deer dies.

“D-Do you two know each other?” He choked out, and two of them said nothing. Louis didn’t know what Harry had told him, but a realization seemed to dawn on Zayn as he slowly arose from his lap. “No fucking way,” he whispered, almost to himself. The scent of his cologne left Louis' atmosphere and he was left alone, grateful to Zayn for tossing him his shirt as he neared his roommate.

“I think,” the man standing between the two of them seemed to flounder, looking for any possible escape as Louis desperately struggled to pull his shirt on. He was quite thankful that his erection had run far, far away. “I think I left something in my car so I’ll just-”

“You don’t get to just wash your hands of this!” Harry suddenly spat, alarming the two of them with how deep and angry his voice sounded. His fingers were digging tight into his own crossed arms leaving tiny white half-moons in his golden skin.

“Excuse me?” Zayn suddenly bowed up, getting rather close to Harry.

“You brought him here?”

“Are you serious, right now, Harry? What right do you have to be upset with either of us for this? It’s not like you ever told me his name or anything!” The two peered angrily at each other, leaving Louis to sit on the couch like a child in time out watching his parents bicker.

“You ever fuck him while I was here?”

“No.”

“Swear on your mum.”

“I swear on everything and even if I had, if you wanna be mad at me for that, you can go fuck yourself, Styles.”

“Get out.”

“I live here. I lived here first - you just rent a room. You don’t get to order me around and kick me out.”

“I understand that,” Harry seethed, speaking lowly. “You’re still my best mate. I still love you and will get over being mad at you but I really don’t want to see you right now.”

Zayn continued to stand, motionless.

“Please get out.”

“Gladly. Thank you,” Zayn spat, turning quickly and leaving the two former boyfriends to gape at each other, dozens of months’ worth of unspoken words hanging between them like ice.

Harry relaxed a bit now, staring down at Louis from his spot in his doorframe. He wished that Zayn and he had put on some music or something - anything to cut the tension which froze every inch of the room.

“You know,” the younger boy murmured finally, his anger not subsiding in any way. “For three years, I always wondered what I would say to you if I ever actually saw you again.” Louis tried to look away - wanted to look away, but couldn’t. He was so beautiful and so resilient, the clear underlying heartbreak masked by bravado. He had a few tattoos - nothing that couldn’t easily be covered by makeup. A star. A quote from somewhere. The letter A, probably for his mum. He pulled at his bottom lip, thinking. “Now I’ve got you here and I’m just coming up completely empty.”

The stunning brunette still glared angrily, as if waiting for a response. Louis couldn’t even form words, his heart taut between shock and desire and shame and regret and sympathy.

“What…” he sighed, “Harry, what do you want me to say?”

“ANYTHING!” He shouted out of nowhere, throwing his hands forward, finally breaking the cross. “Say anything! Say fucking ANYTHING to explain what happened - why you left!”

“Harry, I-”

“I _need_ you to make it make sense!” His voice was tense and raspy, tears starting to rim his eyes and Louis finally managed to stand. He didn't want Louis to think he was crying from heartbreak. They were angry tears. Vengeful tears. “For a while, I made peace with the fact that maybe you were actually straight and I was just a phase but I just saw you with your hand down my flatmate’s pants so that’s not true! So I _need_ you to explain it to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he almost whispered, taking a cautious step towards him like a man trying to calm a charging wild animal. “You have every right to be upset.”

“NO SHIT TOMLINSON!” Harry screamed, shoving him away a bit, the harsh chill of Louis’ wet shirt stinging his hands. “I want you to explain why you _never_ called.” He shoved him again and Louis took the deserved punishment. “Do you wanna know what I remember? We were _children_ and you hid us from everyone, but I took solace in the fact that one day we’d be older and I’d just be yours and I wouldn't be your dirty little secret anymore. The last time I saw you,” he bit on the harsh memories, not bothering to wipe away the stinging angry tears that ran down his cheeks, “you were crying, too. And you told me you loved me. You were going to miss me.”

Each word was a searing punch to Louis' gut. Of course he remembered the last time he saw Harry. He thought about him every day.

“So you kissed me and I let you fuck me-”

“Harry-”

“And then you got on a plane and told me you’d call when you landed. And I _never_ heard from you again!”

“I’m sorry.”

“STOP SAYING YOU’RE SORRY!” Harry screamed. “Stop it! Stop with your... meaningless words! Do you have any idea what happened to me once you were gone? You broke my fucking heart. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t eat and I got so skinny and my grades went to shit because I couldn’t concentrate and _nobody believed me!_ If I told anyone I used to date you, they’d laugh in my fucking face. Everyone who went to school with us knew you weren’t gay and I was full of shit. People I barely knew called me a liar. My mum and Gemma were the only people who knew and they had to watch me suffer for years!” He shoved Louis again and his voice cracked. “I was just ALONE. You ruined my fucking life. And now I’m finally putting myself back together and I find out you’re fucking Zayn? How DARE YOU?!”

He gave Louis one last furious shove and he wobbled back onto the couch.

“SAY SOMETHING!” He wailed down at his ex on the couch and Louis bowed his head. He deserved it. “You owe me that much.”

He nodded, but it was too painful to look up at Harry’s tear-burned eyes.

“You, ehm, you’re right.” He didn’t look up for a response. “I owe you everything.” Louis could swear he heard Harry scoff above him. “I really did love you. You weren’t a phase. I just...I do like girls, too.”

“Good for you.”

“Harry, please,” he almost begged. The truth was painful, gnawing at the back of his mind every time he wrote a song, desperate to purge himself of the guilt.

The beautiful young man breathed a sigh of resignation, sitting down next to Louis but saying nothing.

“I said I love you, we had sex and then I went home. I packed, said goodbye to me family and got on the plane. I landed and Simon was there already with cameras. I didn’t want to call you while I was being filmed - because I wanted to be able to say whatever I wanted. So I just decided I’d call you in the car. The crew departed once he picked me up - I guess they were getting shots of the other acts for the show, so we got into a cab and I told him I needed to call you.” The memory was bitter, mixing in his mind like battery acid on the tongue. “The, ehm, the _moment_ the words ‘my boyfriend’ left me mouth, he literally snatched the phone out of my hand. It scared the shite out of me. I mean, I was eighteen years old and I was completely alone. My mum wasn’t there. I didn’t have... I wasn’t really in any position to argue. I was terrified. He said ‘that’s not happening.’ And that was that.”

He could see Harry reach out to place a comforting hand on his leg, only to change his mind at the last minute and clench a fist, returning it to his own knee.

“They got me a new phone with a new number. Made sure I didn’t have yours. I wanted to reach out to you thousands of times. Explain everything. But then I imagined your voice or face when you found out they said we shouldn’t be together. That I was a child and it was a phase and I didn’t know what I was talking about. They said they’d send me home or I’d never be a working singer and I just - I kept telling meself if I played along long enough, they’d let me go.”

“They threatened to kill your dream.”

“And I killed you in the process. Buried the memory of you in drinking and girls and music. And I sucked at it.”

“You’re successful.”

“I’m miserable.” He finally drew the courage to look up at Harry now, his face still contorted in a shameful frown. “I knocked up the first bird I talked to just so they’d back off a bit. Seemed to make them happy, even though I didn’t know about me son ‘til years later. They were just happy that I was putting my dick where society felt was appropriate. I fucked dozens of girls I didn’t love and they still shamed me for the one boy I actually did.”

Harry nodded, staring forward.

“I’m sorry. Must be hard for you to hear this.”

“I followed you in the tabloids. It’s not new information.”

“You followed me?”

“I mean…” Harry looked away. “I never stopped loving you.”

“I never stopped loving you either.” Staring ahead, Harry managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry I fucked you up. I can’t apologize enough.”

Harry looked over then, sucking in a mildly shocked breath. Earlier when he’d overheard him and Zayn discussing the freezing weather outside, he had assumed it was just verbal foreplay. Now, however, Louis' lips and hands were trembling lightly, taking on a soft hint of blue.

“Jesus, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine; you’re gonna give yourself hypothermia. Come on,” he stood up, gripping Louis’ arm and almost yanking him up from the couch. The two made very little time in getting into Harry’s room. Louis waited politely in the doorframe as his ex tore open his dresser drawers, pulling out sweater trackies, a t-shirt and soon disappeared into what Louis assumed was a closet.

“Go get in the shower before you freeze to death.”

“Harry-”

“NOW!” He spat and Louis gave up, rolling his eyes as he followed Harry’s frantic pointing gestures to his restroom.

It was small and cozy, soft blues and greens and a mild beach theme, an escape from the harsh British winter. He smiled at the basket of tiny hotel lotions and shampoos and soaps atop the toilet tank, stepping into his shower. All of the toiletries in his shower were the same brand and scent - an expensive tea tree and mint mix. It was a tiny paradise and the hot water was welcome - and needed. He hadn’t wanted to admit how cold he was or ask Harry for anything more. He didn’t deserve any of it.

“There’s towels in that little cabinet!” The younger man yelled.

“Thank you!” Louis yelled back.

This felt lovely, but off. Harry had softened so quickly towards him, like a toddler rebounding from a tantrum followed by a nap. Maybe he was being honest and genuinely didn’t want Louis to get sick. Slowly, the sensations returned to his toes and fingertips and he actually took the opportunity to wash his hair and clean his body; washing off Zayn. Washing off lies and bullshit and hoping he had been able to wash off the past. Maybe he was worthy of forgiveness. Perhaps not a future, but forgiveness. That would have to be enough.

* * *

When Louis finally emerged from the shower with a light blue towel wrapped around his waist, no longer dying of frostbite, Harry was nowhere to be found. The insanely comfortable articles of clothing were laid out on the bed and he changed into them. No underwear, but that seemed a bit of an overreach for what was a kind gesture and in no way a proposition.

“Harry?” He called out into the flat, soon surprised by his teenage ex returning.

“Sorry. Threw your clothes into the wash. I’ll try to have them dry as soon as possible.”

“...Thank you,” he smiled warmly. “You don’t have to do any of this.”

“I know,” Harry spat flatly, sitting down on his bed, looking sadly up at Lou. “I’m doing it because I want to.”

“Why?”

“Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I want you to die. And you _were_ turning blue. But I guess,” he sighed, not drawing back when Louis sat as far away as he could from him on the bed. Harry was still shirtless and any closer felt like too close. Dangerously close. “Hating you was exhausting. I’d be happy with at least a friendly…” Harry searched for the right phrase, “acquaintanceship? Is that a word?”

Louis’ eyes bugged out. “I don’t know. Maybe. If it is, it’s a good one.”

“Thank you. I try.”

“I’d like that. Knowing you don’t hate me will help me sleep at night.”

The two gently smiled, Harry looking down to notice how his hoodie sleeves were too long, covering his ex’s hands up to his fingertips, leaving him looking like a kitten with tiny sweater paws.

“My clothes are rather big on you.”

“Oy!” Louis snapped, cackling a bit. “Rub it in, why don’t you?” Harry shrugged, trying not to smirk. “You did get quite tall. I’m almost jealous.”

“Knew you might be,” he winked.

“How tall are you now?”

“Five eleven. They like to put me in boots for runway work and full body shoots so I’m usually above six.”

A mask of confusion covered Louis' face for just a moment, watching as Harry stood up and entered his closet. He soon emerged wearing a plain cotton t-shirt with the name of some band that had broken up before either of them were born.

“Zayn said you model now?”

“Gettin’ there. No major contracts yet, but my agent says it’s just a matter of time.”

“Not surprised,” he chuckled, standing up with him. “You got downright statuesque,” and Harry stuck out his tongue. The top of Louis’ head only came up to his nose - and he wondered if his ex could tell he’d used his shampoo. “Grew a jawline like Brando,” and he reached out to run his finger along it. The shave was smooth with no trace of stubble - a sharp contrast to Louis’ rugged, careless facial hair. The two grinned contentedly, savoring the unexpected moment before the reality of their situation hit them. Louis coughed nervously, dropping his hand and taking a step back.  
  
“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry calmed him, grinning gently. “I’d be a shitty model if people didn’t like what they see, right?”

“Right,” Lou nodded.

“So,” Harry sighed, throwing himself back on his bed as the sound of the washing machine still filled his flat. “Who’s watching your kid? Like does his mum’s family get him sometime or?” Louis’ face was flat, as if he were debating answering at all. “I’m sorry if it’s a sore subject. I overst-”

“No. it’s fine,” he brushed his hands through his hair as he looked down at Harry, spread and relaxed and welcoming on the bed. He tried desperately to think innocent thoughts, but a gorgeous model was on his back in front of him and the more inhibitive parts of his brain were shutting down. What the hell had Harry just asked him? Right. Deacon. His kid. Shit.

“Nah, Sonya was from Argentina so her family is there. It’s a completely different country and they don’t even speak his language so… I mean it’s one of the many reasons I didn’t have to fight too hard for him once I found out.”

“Her name was Sonya?” Harry asked and Louis nodded.

“But my sisters are babysitting him tonight.”

“Oh my God,” an intoxicating smile crawled across his face. “I forgot about your sisters. They’re teenagers now, aren’t they?”

“Just barely, but yeh,” Louis chuckled.

“Fuck, I missed you.” His green eyes stared upward at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize how tiring it was thinking you were a piece of shit.”

“...thank you?”

“So,” Harry popped up on his elbows, grinning widely in such a way that, for a moment, he perfectly resembled the cheesing child Louis left behind four years ago. He still wore the random snapback that he’d bore when he ripped open the door and Louis wanted to kiss him. But that was way too much too soon. Harry had just forgiven him and he didn’t want to take advantage. Maybe he wasn’t even forgiven. Maybe Harry was just making nice, his guard up. “Did you write any songs about me?!” He cooed excitedly, almost forgetting that it was now two in the morning and he’d spent the last three years hating him. Louis wasn’t that much older, but he was a father and a busy artist and he felt his eyelids begin to droop and his arms and legs weighted with exhaustion.

Louis scoffed at the question, his mouth dropping.

“I thought you said you followed me.”

“In the papers, yes. The sound of your voice, your actual music. I-I tried.” He looked away, his face falling for a moment. “It was too hard.” 

“Of course I wrote songs about you.” He almost whispered his answer. “They were all about you.”

“What?!”

“Where’s me mobile? ...shit.”

“It was, erm, in the pocket of your jeans but I have it charging on Zayn’s cord. He probably won’t be back tonight.”

“He won’t?” Louis called as he darted into the other bedroom littered with paintings and graffiti and quickly yanked his phone off of the black comforter where it was at a reasonable forty percent before rushing back into the room. He was afraid to miss another unrealistic moment, back in the same room with Harry. “Where’s he going to sleep?”

The fashion model shrugged, taking off his cap and tossing it off the side of the bed. “He’ll find someone.” He tossed his arm over his eyes, not budging when Louis laid next to him.

“Do you have headphones?” The Donny asked and Harry nodded, rolling over to open his nightstand drawer. Louis couldn’t help but see a few condoms in there which both made sense and caused a stabbing sensation above his stomach, but he said nothing. The headphones were simple buds, tangled as Harry’s large fingers looped them over and under.

“What is all this?” He asked as Louis plugged into the output of his phone and offered him one of the buds. They each placed one in the ears closest to each other, Harry smiling shyly in anticipation.

“You asked if I wrote songs about you.” He hit play on the first one he could find, from his first album. It had been a cheesier, poppier fare than he would have preferred, but he had been young and listened to what everyone told him would sell. “And I did.”

“Whenever I close my eyes, I picture you there. I'm looking out at the crowd, you're everywhere. I'm watching you from the stage, yeah… Your smile is on every face now. But every time you wake up. You're hearing me say ‘Goodbye.”

“Oh my God,” the deep voice next to him mumbled, a blush rising onto Harry’s cheeks.

“I told you, love.”

The minutes sped by, song after song he’d written just for him. 

“I've tried to ask myself ‘Should I see someone else?’ I wish I knew the answer. But I know if I go now, if I leave, then I'm on my own tonight. I'll never know the answer. Midnight doesn't last forever, dark turns to light - heartache flips my world around. I'm falling down, down, down - that's why I find your lips so kissable and your kiss unmissable; your fingertips so touchable and your eyes irresistible-”

It was when _Last First Kiss_ began to play that he looked back over to realize Harry was crying. Not the over the top sobbing he’d seen before he left for the judges’ houses years earlier, but a quiet weeping. There were trails of tears down his cheeks as if he hadn’t even wiped them away, afraid to move lest he alert Louis.

“Aw, Harry-”

“Please don’t.” He didn’t even turn to look at him.

"I didn’t want you to cry,” he started to reach over.

“Stop. I just… I just want to keep listening, okay?” And Louis nodded as a new song began. He would never admit he’d selected his Harry playlist, identified on his phone only by green heart emojis. Only the songs _he_ had written about him - not the ones he’d recorded just for his management. Not the songs others had written for Louis to sing.

“You say, you say to everybody that you hate me. Couldn't blame you 'cause I know I left you all alone, yeah, I know that I left you all alone and yeah, now I'm back at your door. You're lookin' at me unsure - I should've seen it before. You're all I think about, baby. I was so stupid for letting you go but I, I, I know you're still the one. You might have moved on but girl you should know-” Harry snorted a small laugh and Louis nudged him, playfully insulted.

“If the song sounded gay, they’d make me add in ‘girl.’ Like, a lot. Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” and Harry bit a weak smile.

A few more songs played, the two of them futilely fighting the coming sleep. They would alternate closing eyelids and nodding off for only a few and it was when a slower almost ethereal ballad bled into their ears that Harry finally rolled to face him, his eyes shining green and red-rimmed. He looked to Louis like Christmas morning. His cheeks were still shining with tears and he finally allowed the older singer to brush them away with his soft, musical fingers. 

“Lights go... down and… The night is calling to me, yeh.”

Harry sniffled, staring at Louis with cautious optimism. “Did you really - write these all about me?”

“You were all I thought about.” He quickly answered. “It wasn’t ever really over for me. I guess I just kept holding out hope-” and he was stopped as Harry pulled him close and delicately kissed him. Louis found himself grateful that they were already lying down, otherwise his buckling knees would have brought him down. His chest lurched as an elated panic overtook him, anxious to touch him but unable to help himself. Harry’s face was wet from crying but warm, his lips just as soft and plump and perfect as they’d been the last time he’d kissed him years earlier. Soft. Gentle. So missed for so long. He could feel Harry’s hands cupping his face.

“I love this feeling that right now I wish you were here with me 'cause right now everything is new to me. You know I can't fight the feeling and every night I feel it. Right now, I wish you were here with me.”

Louis was breathless, taken aback at even the possibility that this could be happening, Harry relieved that Louis hadn’t completely forgotten him in the whirlwind of fame.

The kisses were chaste, endless and perfect; the two men pressing their bodies together as they touched each other’s hair and face and eyelashes and jaws. 

“My hands, your hands tied up like two ships - drifting, weightless; waves try to break it. I'd do anything to save it. Why is it so hard to say it? My heart, your heart sit tight like book ends; pages between us written with no end - so many words we're not saying. Don't wanna wait 'til it's gone. You make me strong. I'm sorry if I say, ‘I need you’ but I don't care, I'm not scared of love ‘cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker. Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong that you make me strong?”

They were both too fatigued to do anything more than kiss over and over with no end in sight, only ceasing when unconsciousness finally took them. Louis was snoring lightly, his thumb on Harry’s cheek as he slept, the music still playing for them until the phone, too, eventually went quiet.

* * *

When Harry awoke, the sunlight was streaming through his bluish-grey curtains. His arms were entangled in a tender warmth his limbs had long since forgotten, his large fingers twisted with thinner, somehow longer fingers. He was here. He was back.

He took a deep breath, soaking him in. There was the smell of his own shampoo and conditioner in Louis’ hair from his shower last night. His own headphones were no longer in his ears, coming out at some point in the night.

His half of the earbuds was tucked under his messy bedhead, no doubt leaving a mark on the cheek pressed against the sheets and Louis’ phone was now completely dead. The room was absolutely tense with silence and he wasn’t sure if he was the only one awake or if Louis had been up for a while, just enjoying this. Who knew how long it would last? How long before Louis had to go back on tour or start recording a new album? How long before he said goodbye and kissed his forehead and never spoke to him again?

Harry scooted a bit more backwards, hoping to burrow in the comfort of Louis’ arms for as long as he would let him. Harry had spent years missing that comfort; that warmth. That soft feeling of permanence and peace. There was something else he’d been missing - and he couldn’t help but giggle quietly and miserably fail at suppressing his lazy morning smile when he felt it pressing directly between his asscheeks hard and very, very familiar. He could even feel Louis’ heartbeat in his morning wood and wondered if he were even awake - or just part of him was.

He was an apparent failure at hiding his chuckles, because he felt a northern smile break through onto the back of his neck.

“M’sorryyyy…” Louis sighed, burying his nose into the fabric between Harry’s shoulder and placing a small, ironically innocent kiss. “I think he can sense you’re nearby,” he joked.

Harry laughed deeply now, covering his face before turning around. It had been too long since he’d woken up to this face. It was older now and far more fatigued - a light beard and mustache, but still the same light brown fringe handing into the perfect blue eyes. The eyes he’d grown up thinking would be the ones he’d look into forever. At least, he’d hoped.

Turning over had resulted in the solid erection leaving Harry’s backside and now pressing against the top of his thigh as a slow, devious smirk crawled across his face.

“So…” God he wanted to kiss him again, but didn’t want to give his smug mug the satisfaction. “Would you say he missed me?”

“Oh more than you could possibly know,” Louis sighed, reaching out his hand to pull Harry close, grateful this time to be the one initiating things - and that Harry wasn’t crying. It felt different - heavier and more meaningful, more anticipatory. More expectant. Their breathing was already loaded and loud, taking quick gulps of air in between frantic kisses. Louis’ hand was so tight on the back of Harry’s hair, his fingers happily wrapped with locks of his hair.

He reached his free hand out to pull Harry closer to him, trying not to groan too loudly or smile too wide when he felt Hazza’s hand reach up and do the same, cupping his jaw and holding his head steady as they sucked and licked desperate kisses into each other’s mouth. “I’ve wanted to pull on your hair for so long.” Luckily, according to the clock behind Louis’ head, they’d only slept about four and a half hours, so morning breath hadn’t really had time to set in. All he could taste was a few long-forgotten pints of beer or two of beer and a mouthwash swizzled after his shower.

“Harry-” he mumbled, Harry wondering what he was going to ask for or what he was trying to say; or wondering if he were merely celebrating the fact he was there. It was HIM. Harry was the one doing these things.

The room was still eerily quiet as he rolled over even further, straddling Louis and exposing the fact that he, too, was exceptionally hard. His pyjama bottoms did little to mask the situation which was caused directly by Louis and had nothing to do with the time of day. He leaned down, still kissing and gently biting his lips as Lou pulled his hair not so gently and pushed his hands down his back, gripping tightly onto the two separate cheeks of his arse.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Louis whispered hotly.

Harry reached up, grabbing the neck of Louis’ - well, HIS - hoodie and pulling him to a sitting position so that Harry’s feet could now wrap around his backside, grinding them tightly against each other. He was hungry. Deprived. Desperate. Harry hadn’t shagged anyone in the last six weeks, but for some reason, every inch of him ached as if no one else had ever happened. He wanted Louis as if he were drowning, a tiny blue little breath of oxygen pressed against his lips. His hands pressed downward along Louis’ back, soon reaching the hem of his own t-shirt beneath the hoodie before he quickly pulled them both off of him at once. Having him shirtless was a small release itself - obviously one step closer to one thing he’d wanted for the past three and a half years.

“Did Zayn ever come back last night?” He murmured between Harry’s lips.

“Dunno,” was his quick answer. “Don’t care. Want you.”

“Yessir,” Louis winked, reaching forward to yank Harry’s shirt off quickly before pressing an almost violent kiss onto his neck.

“Fuck,” he whispered, holding his ex’s head tight on his skin. 

They were writhing against each other, oxygen raging everywhere except for their brains. It reminded Harry very much of being teenagers together - frantic, thoughtless, full of promise and without a care for tomorrow. He wanted this now. “What do you want from me?” Louis asked and the gravel of his voice sent shivers through Harry’s voice and all the blood rushed from his head straight to his already steel cock. 

“Everything,” he pulled away from their kiss, rubbing his thumb briefly down Louis' flushed lips, bitten and chapped and pink from their expenditure. “Make love to me, Louis Tomlinson.” He asked and saw his paramour’s expression suddenly soften. He’d said it before their first time, far more innocently. He’d been just five weeks shy of his sixteenth birthday, Louis almost more hesitant than him. It had been snowing outside. Now, the air outside was still cold but his voice was older and deeper and so loaded; so needy. It wasn’t a question anymore - it was a demand.

“Of course, baby.” He winked. “Whatever you want.”

He repeated and Harry could swear his heart grew eleven sizes that day when he realized that Louis himself was quoting their ridiculously schmaltzy dialogue from over three years prior. The night they’d first had sex, the night he’d lost his virginity; the night had “one day” had become “no I mean right now.” The night Right Now had become Forever.

Louis’ hands were tougher than he remembered - no doubt from years of guitar and flicking lighters to the cigarettes Harry had seen in so many pictures. They gripped onto him, pulling him impossibly closer and forward, his cock sliding immediately back where it belonged, solid between the flushed, needy cheeks of Harry’s ass. He’d been bold, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of his pyjama pants, both of their bodies desperate and wild.

It was this leverage he used to pick Harry up and quickly flip him onto his back, impressing them both. It had been one thing when he was sixteen and just slightly smaller than Louis. Now he was several inches taller and several pounds heavier and the love of his life could still throw him around.

His heart swelled again. Louis. The love of his life. Louis, who had the power to build him up higher than the heavens themselves had ever dreamed. Louis who had quickly shoved a hand back down into Harry’s trousers and was currently stroking his absolutely massive erection and making him lose all focus.

“Ohmigod, Louis...” he tried to come up with something suave and clever and meaningful, but was only able to grunt, “Shit.” _Good job, Harry._

There was the unmistakable sound of the front door shutting and shocking them both out of their reverie; causing Louis to freeze. 

Neither of them knew, but Zayn had come home for a brief moment only to hear Harry’s throaty gasping swear and immediately turned to leave again. He laughed gently as he wrongly assumed they were still fucking from the night before - mildly impressed.

“Was that him coming or going?” Louis asked, chuckling for only a moment. He returned his gaze downward to Harry, his blue eyes crinkled and blissful. His arms framed the younger boy, tanned and tattooed under Harry’s fingertips.

This was Louis, who he’d waited three and a half years to find again. This was… Louis who had accidentally broken his heart. This was Louis, who - if he so chose - had the ability to completely shatter him all over again. Louis, who was leaning down to kiss him once more and-

“Wait,” Harry choked, putting a hand up between him and Lou. “Stop.” He coughed a few times, wiping his kisses off of his mouth and cheeks. “Please don’t,” he started, sitting up along with his ex, who looked terribly confused, his face still flushed with desire, “please don’t do this if you’re just going to leave again. If we go ahead and… and you just disappear for years, it will kill me. I lost everything about who I was and I don’t think I can handle it a second time.”

Louis stared at him, his face flat as he pressed his fingers to his lips in sudden thought. He nodded, making an unintelligible decision, shrugging and standing up. He was getting off the bed.

“Fair enough,” he sighed and Harry watched in abject horror as Louis leaned - OVER HIM MIND YOU! - and grabbed his t-shirt before throwing it on. It took every ounce of his self control not to start sobbing. But he was grateful that Louis was at least being forthright with him. He wasn’t setting him up to lie awake at night, crying so hard he would give himself an infection in his tear ducts. 

He could handle this. At least they hadn’t shagged right before Louis left for years again. He could handle this.

Louis was going to leave. Fuck. He was failing miserably at not crying, tears starting to burn at the edges of his eyes.

“Go on, then, grab your shirt. Get dressed.”

“Wh-what?” Harry sniffled.

“Have you got anything to do today? Like a job or audition or summat?”

“Erm, no.”

“Well, then,” Louis reached down to grab Harry’s concert shirt on the floor, tossing it to him. “Get your kit on. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Louis cracked a quick, coy smile.

"Do you wanna come home with me and meet my son?” He asked - and the dam broke forth as Harry finally burst into tears. And Louis sat down to calm him. 

It took a while.

* * *

In even the most clogged of traffic conditions, it would have been less than a thirty minute cab ride from Harry and Zayn’s flat to the wealthiest neighborhoods in London. It was the kind of giant home Louis would have dreamed of while growing up with Doncaster. 

“Wow,” Harry sighed, eyeing the house. Louis parked and they exited. His - whatever he was... his boyfriend? - soon reached out, taking his hand. “This is really nice.”

“Well,” Louis smirked, placing a gentle kiss onto Harry’s knuckles, “it’ll look even better with you in it.”

He wanted to roll his eyes and comment about how cheesy the line was, but he went ahead and swooned, the two exchanging an exhausted, soft kiss before Louis unlocked the door and walked in.

The oversized family home was abuzz with activity. Most of the furnishings were black or white and Louis had strung christmas and fairy lights around most of the windows where he’d hung dark gray curtains. The twins were around ten now, seated on the large couch with a tiny brunette toddler sandwiched between them. Harry could barely make out _Brave_ playing on the oversized television.

There was a pleasant hominess entering the Tomlinson house with Louis’ hand in his, a mess of children and noise surrounding them. Following Louis’ lead, he kicked off his shoes into the pile near the front door, mostly full of petite girls’ Crocs. He tossed the small backpack he’d brought with him aside as the young ladies looked up at the door.

Fizzy appeared to be closer to thirteen, lazily texting on her phone, half-asleep as a blonde, spectacularly short whirlwind rounded the corner.

"Where the shit have you been? When you say ‘don’t wait up,’ I assume you meant like two or three am not nearly ten the next day!” Lottie was in her mid-teens and wearing way too much makeup, but Harry kept his mouth shut, thoroughly entertained by Lou getting reprimanded by a sixteen year old. 

“Thanks, _Mom,_ ” Louis rolled the eyes for them, surveying his living room. “How is he?”

“He was fine. Ate like four pancakes for break-” Lottie began and the three of them were suddenly interrupted by a tiny toddler rushing up to Louis. His hair was sticking out in every direction, his blue eyes pointing straight upward. 

“DADDY!!!” The child yelled, showering Louis with kisses as he picked him up - before eyeing Harry. “Mumma?” 

“No,” Louis chuckled nervously, shooting Harry a somewhat apologetic smile. “This is Daddy’s…” he shrugged, making the decision for them. “This is Daddy’s boyfriend, Harry.”

“OH MY GOD!” Lottie and Fizzy suddenly began screeching. “Harry?! I knew it was you! I knew it!”

“Shut up! When did THIS happen?”

“Wow you got, like, proper fit! Got any friends?”

“Everyone calm down!” Louis finally bellowed. “Harry,” he handed him the child, who’d been desperately reaching for him since their introduction, “this is Deacon.”

Deacon stared at him, reaching up high to what would normally be the curly top of Harry’s head but was now covered with Zayn’s snapback. 

“What? You like my hat?” He cooed, taking it off and popping it onto the toddler’s small physique. It covered the entirety of his petite head, reminding Harry of the mouse from An American Tail, dwarfed by such a large article atop his tiny frame.

“Well look at you!” Harry chuckled down at the small version of Louis. “Handsome devil you got here, Lou. I’d better watch myself or you’ll be stealing jobs from me before we know it.”

“Alright,” Louis removed the hat from Deacon, placing it back atop Harry’s head before winking slyly. “Lottie, Fizz, get the twins ready and I’ll walk you to the tube.”

“Or,” Lottie smirked, reminding Harry very much of her brother as she took her nephew from him. “I’m sure Mum would love to keep Deacon the rest of the weekend and you and Harry can, um,” she winked, “reconnect.”

“Lottie, mind your tongue.”

“And I’m sure once she finds out WHO the reason is for her grandson’s surprise arrival, she’ll be even happier.”

Louis couldn’t argue, already dying to kiss Harry again.

“You sure?”

“She hasn’t watched Deacon overnight in MONTHS and last night was the first time you’d been out in weeks. Plus the tube is a ten minute walk. We’ll be fine.”

It didn’t take Louis too long to pack Deacon an overnight bag, kissing him a million times as his sisters were soon waltzing out the door. “I’ll be there to pick you up tomorrow at seven! I promise! Daddy loves you so much. I’ll see you soon.” Deacon waved his tiny mitten-clad hand from within his stroller, made to look even smaller in his thick winter coat and hat.

“Have fun! Be safe!” He called after them. Lottie didn’t miss a beat, spinning around to face him.

“You do the same!” She shouted just as Louis shot her his middle finger and shut the door, exhaling and rubbing his eyes for only a moment before opening them, smiling tiredly at Harry. The curly haired boy was leaning back against the wall, his flannel shirt open over his concert shirt, Zayn’s ball cap still keeping his wild hair at bay. He smirked, looking almost proud.

“What?” Louis prodded, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me your boyfriend in front of someone else.”

“That’s, erm,” he took a step forward. It felt oddly bold, even moreso than kissing Harry this morning had been. “That’s the first time I’ve ever called anyone my boyfriend. Out loud.”

Harry’s mouth almost dropped. “You never had another boyfriend since me?” Louis shook his head. “Not even secretly?

“No bloke ever measured up to you,” he smiled, biting his lip before glancing downward, embarrassed. “Is that o-right? You being me boyfriend? People knowing? I get that it’s fast-“

“Louis,” Harry interrupted, “that’s all I’ve wanted since I was fifteen years old.” His smile was so wide, the boy from Doncaster was certain it was about to shatter.

“And…would you be alright with me comin’ out?” And Harry’s eyes bugged out, mouth dropping open in shock.

“Wh-what?” He questioned, Louis nodding. “Won’t your management be upset?”

“I’ll get yelled at. Might lose a sponsorship or two. But I know me fans. They’ll love you. I love you.”

Harry’s head spun before he spoke lowly, staring at the ground. “You don’t have to do that for me. You don’t have to _say_ you’re mine.”

“I broke your heart and will spend a lifetime making it up to you if you’ll let me, Harry.” The unspoken weight of his words made Harry struggle for breath. “I don’t wanna have to hide you or lie. I want to go on dates and let you into Deacon’s life, y’know? I don’t wanna be afraid of getting papped with ye. I wanna be happy. Be proud.” He inhaled nervously. “I just _want to_ say I’m yours.”

“That...” Harry held back tears, his eyes slowly going pink, “I...Louis, fuck,” he reached up to wipe away the tears as Louis cut him off, pressing his lips to his.

“Just wanna be yours, Hazza,” he began, smiling far too hard as Harry showered him violently with kisses all over his face, lips and cheeks somehow adorable and domestic and sexual and desperate. “Hold on, I wanna just do one thing,” he whispered as he gently pushed Harry away. “Give me one chaste smooch.” he took a quick selfie smiling far too wide; Harry with his lanky arms thrown around Louis’ head and shoulders, a kiss pressed into his cheek as he laughed at his use of the word smooch. It was sweet, but still PG and appropriate enough for the younger fans. He wrote a quick tweet, tagging Harry’s handle he’d friended in the car ride here. “What do you think?” He asked, showing Harry the message.

“Always in my Heart, @Harry_Styles.” accompanied by their kissing selfie. “Yours sincerely, Louis”

“Is that okay with you?” He asked, Harry nodded excitedly through his tears. “Good,” and he posted it, the up-and-coming model wasting no time in knocking the phone out of his hand with a far hungrier, passionate kiss, bumping his head against the wall. “Ow.” Harry didn’t seem to care.

“Just wanna be mine, huh?” He asked between their kisses in the hallway. Louis could only nod, his grin turning to desire as Harry’s hands traveled quickly down, fumbling with the buckle on his belt. 

“Every single inch,” he sighed, pawing down at his hat. He was torn between the passionate need to run his hands through the thick curly mess he’d longed for over the past three years and how fucking hot Harry looked in the ridiculous hat as he knelt down, making fast work of the button and fly of Louis’ slacks.

“You like the snapback, do you?” His green eyes were so bright as he looked up at his ex - whoops - his new old boyfriend.

“I do,” Louis bit his lip. “Makes you look like a slutty little American frat boy.” The thud of his belt on the floor was a delicious sound effect as he playfully shoved at his lover’s head. “So hungry for cock, even though you know you’re not supposed to be.” Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion, the comment not making sense with the stereotypes he’d heard.

“Did the American frat boys you encounter suck a lot of dick?”

"You’re asking me that now?” Louis arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”

“Fair enough,” he almost giggled, somehow so happy to forget the painful past between them. He was here now. In Louis’ home. In his heart. Currently pulling - well, yanking was more like it - down his pants in the foyer. 

It felt like it had been decades and suddenly no time at all - Harry was kissing his belly and running his tongue along the rim of his pants. Louis could feel him smiling, the two of them almost giggling in the silence, a bear growling and some Scottish yelling on the television screen, the Disney film almost over. The two were still very close to the front door, just a few days before Christmas and Louis winced for a moment - he was already quite hard just being alone with Harry and his young lover’s hands were still a bit chilly against the scorching heat of his erection as he reached into his pants.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, looking back up at him, the tears from his earlier excitement rimming his eyes and making him look a lot less innocent.

“If you keep looking at me, I won’t last very long.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry bit his lip, his breath hot against Louis. 

“Don’t bite your- fuck…” his voice shook as he leaned his head back against the stark white wall of his house. His mansion. His lonely fucking mansion. But he wasn’t lonely anymore, filling it with random moans and screams from people he didn’t care about. He was here with Harry. His Harry. Harry’s tongue sliding along his cock as if it had always belonged there and had never left. His mouth was home. Louis was home, comforted by the only noise being Harry worshipping on his knees, a sort of wet sound with the occasional gopping gagging sound and it took everything in Louis' control not to come or cry.

Nobody else had ever mattered. Everyone had been nameless, meaningless faces to fill the hole in his heart - that same hole that was overflowing right now as Harry sucked him off, not a thing having changed in the almost four years they’d been separated. Sure, the formerly sixteen year old was slimmer and taller with a far more serious look on his brow, but he still appeared so happy and grateful and thanking his lucky stars to be Louis’, his nose occasionally bumping against the soft mound of hair and… there should never have been anyone else. He felt a hot, pulling sensation in his belly - just above Harry’s head - and drew in a sharp breath.

“Stop,” he coughed, reaching down and gently pushing him again, laughing lightly.

“What?” This gorgeous boy asked so innocently, face so docile and worried. “Was it bad? I mean I’ll admit I haven’t necessarily been on a dick parade since you left but-”

“No, it-” Louis’ brow shot up. “Dick parade?” Harry shrugged. “No it was - it was amazing. I just…” he sighed, reaching forward to take the cap off and brush his wildly curly hair from his forehead. “I’d been waiting so long to see you and do this with you again, I want it to be…” he fumbled for words as Louis always did when he was flustered, sexually or otherwise. “I don’t want to come with you on your knees, sucking me off in the hallway. I want…” he tossed his secretly flamboyant hands around, still searching for meaning.

“Louis?”

“Yeh?”

Harry said nothing. He merely stepped forward, forever closing that long, several years worth of a gap between them and, with both of his disarmingly large hands, took Louis’ head by the cheeks. A gentle, content smile spread across his flushed lips. The boy from Doncaster could do nothing but swoon as he was tenderly, sweetly kissed, Harry’s hands lovingly cupping his jaw. He really did miss him every single second of every single day. He wanted this to be sweet. He wanted to _feel_ love like they talked about in movies. The first few times he’d slept with Harry, it had been enjoyable but incredibly awkward as the two of them had barely known what they were doing, fumbling around like lovesick schoolboys. By the time they had started to get remotely “good” at it, it was summer and time for Louis’ audition and he was gone.

None of that seemed to matter anymore as Harry pressed him against the walls of his home. Their kisses grew more desperate as his hands, finally warm from their prior activity, pulled innocently at Louis’ shirt, every inch of their chest pushing against each other as if any amount of space between them was too much. Standing on his tip toes, he felt a smile crawl behind Harry’s kiss, deepening things, his tongue licking against the roof of his mouth. Harry wrapped a hand around his exposed cock, stroking gently. It was as if he wasn’t even trying to get him off. He just wanted to touch - couldn’t help himself.

At a certain point, it was almost as if they weren’t even kissing anymore, just pawing and grinding against each other in the empty, cavernous foyer, their mouths open and breathing into one another as Louis lifted Harry’s shirt over his head and didn’t care where it landed.

His hands started to pull at the button of Harry’s jeans, his past and future lover clearly rock hard and leaking a telltale spot in the front of his pants. Louis chose to ignore this and pull out the big guns, once again placing too harsh of a kiss onto Harry’s neck where his head seemed to naturally sit, as if that’s where his lips were meant to exist forever. He barely heard Harry’s jeans hit the ground as he kicked them away, reaching to pull one of Louis' hands towards the immense situation in his boxers.

“Louis…” he cried lowly, a large hand taking its place on the back of his head, pulling him even closer. It was only when he took a step forward towards Harry who desperately pulled at him and the waiting ecstasy he promised that the world harshly reminded him his trousers were still around his ankles. His erection speared forward as he tripped, his sock feet twisting over each over and catapulting him - and Harry - to the ground.

“Oi! Shit!” He bellowed as they fell.

They landed in the luckiest of circumstances, Harry square on his bottom with a loud smack, Louis on his knees and elbows. Harry’s euphoric, gleeful laugh filled his home, covering his wide grin with a hand.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Louis moaned, rolling over onto his back to kick off the traitorous slacks. “Stupid feet…” He looked over. “Are you okay?” He asked Harry guiltily. 

“Physically I’m fine,” he joked. “Emotionally I’m bruised,” and showcased a pitiful pout.

“Poor baby,” he sighed and Harry stuck his tongue out at the mocking. Louis rolled back over, placing his elbows on either side of his chest, still panting and heaving from both their heated makeout session and their clumsily hallway fall. “Want me to kiss it better?” He asked, his eyes flicking back and forth between the perfect green eyes he’d missed for so long and Harry’s fluffy, perfect pink lips.

“Always,” he whispered, abruptly stealing Louis’ thunder as he reached up to pull his head back down, neither of them moving, kissing so sweetly until once again, Harry was desperate and almost crying, pulling at Louis’ shirt. Wordlessly, they separated for only a moment, the younger of the two quickly tossing his boxers aside as the singer fumbled through his pockets for what he’d packed in his pockets the night before. The idea that he’d ever intended to use the condoms or the small bottle of lube with Zayn - or anyone else - sickened him. Even the fact that he needed to use them at all bore a tiny hole in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly choked out and Harry looked up at him from his place on the floor.

“For what?” He asked, confused for a moment. That was, until he noticed how Louis was staring at the small foil squares in his hand. “Oh Louis-”

“I’m just sorry. I only have to use these because I shagged other people.” Genuine disgust seemed to drop from his lips. “There should have never been anyone else and you have every right to be mad at me. It should have only ever been you.”

“Louis-”

“I tried, okay? I really did but I was mad a lot and drunk a lot and I just…” he gestured to the back of the mansion. “I mean, obviously! There’s a Lightning McQueen racecar bed back there for the result of me being a fuckin’ idiot and I-”

“Louis! I don’t… yeah, it hurts but it’s behind us now,” he reached out, clasping his hands around both Louis’ and the condoms. “You can go get tested and we won’t have to anymore, okay ? Don’t think I’m upset with you for one more second. Come here,” he pulled him close, kissing him briefly. Harry took the condoms away and made quick work of putting it on Louis, forgiving him. They said nothing, pressing their foreheads together, staring. Speechless.

Louis slid his hand between his legs, sliding a lubricated finger between his asscheeks, only to meet Harry’s gaze with a confused eyebrow.

“Excuse me, but why-”

“I may have, erm,” Harry held back a mildly embarrassed grin, “I may have gotten myself off last night before Zayn brought you home.” Louis’ jaw dropped. “Don’t judge me! I had the house to myself and-” Zero words got out as he shut him up with a quick kiss.

He was glad, in a backwards way, that there was hardly any need to open him up. A small amount of lube was all they needed and Harry drew in a tight, quick breath as he wrapped his legs around Louis’. It wasn't painless, but he relished it, the slight stinging realization that Louis was back. He was here. They were home.

Louis was inside of him, a reality he’d pictured sadly and innocently and not-so-innocently thousands of times in the last few years. There was a small amount of stubble on his jaw, rubbing gently against the other’s hairless chin. Some celtic music was echoing through the house as he realized they’d left _Brave_ on.

His thrusts were alarmingly gentle as if he were trying not to hurt him any further, instead content to simply move with him in the perfect solitude. One hand on his side, bracing his weight, the other around his neck and in his hair almost as if he was trying to pull them even closer together - as if that were possible. He couldn’t. They were one person with two hearts. They were home.

"Ahhh,” he gasped into the air.

It was ecstasy; Louis between his legs again, his ankles pressing into the cheeks of the Donny boy’s exquisite ass. Neither of them said a word - not with their mouths anyway. Enough was being said as Louis increased the ferocity of his actions just enough to begin drawing gasps and low yelps from Harry’s throat. Harry wrapped his hands around both of his lover’s cheeks, kissing him and staring into his eyes. He locked his ankles around his Louis’ lower back, urging him for more, kisses turning to bites on their lips and soon placing a harsher bite onto his neck.

“Please,” his whisper shook onto a stubbled and already somewhat damp cheek. It was then that Louis finally relented and let his desperation take over, thrusting forcefully into a silence only flooded by the loud celtic music flowing over them.

He could just barely make out the young princess’s Scottish brogue narration as the film was ending, the only sound other than their breathing and the filthy smacking sound of Louis’s balls against the puckered cheeks of his ass.

“There are those who say fate is something beyond our command. That destiny is not our own, but I know better.” Harry lifted his head up to kiss him again, his head spinning. He wrapped his arm around the back of his neck, locking their eyes. The bite on Louis’ neck already looked fierce and angry. “Our fate lives within us, you only have to be brave enough to see it.”

“Oh my God,” the older man’s voice shook. “I missed you…” He tilted Harry a bit so he was just barely brushing his prostate with every stroke now. “I missed you so fuckin’ much, baby, I’m so sorry. Do you hate me?”

Harry kissed him again before throwing his head back, giving Louis what he felt he was asking for. 

“I hate you,” he trembled, “I hate you for leaving. Fuckin’ hated you for so long but you’re back now and you’re mine. All mine. Not for anyone else.” Louis’ hair was wet, brushing against Harry’s nose as he shook his head in the negative. 

“Only you - Shit,” he sat up suddenly, panting and brushing his hair out of his face. “We have to stop.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“The floor is hardwood and me knees are on fire, love.”

“Oh,” Harry attempted to giggle but coughed on the air caught in his dry throat. “Where do you want to-”

“Couch,” Louis almost ordered, quickly standing up and pulling his boyfriend up with him. It was the nearest soft surface and the two couldn’t make it fast enough.

Soon, he sat down, bringing Harry with him, gleeful as he sat on his lap, giving Louis no time to miss the tightness and the heat as he came back down on his perfect, beautiful uncut cock. He smiled. Harry smiled, leaning down to kiss him as Louis brought a thick blanket around his backside, pulling him even closer.

“Wanted you here for so long,” he sighed, watching Harry move in beautiful waves before resorting to bouncing and letting Louis bite his lips. “Needed you.” The boy was shaking - an old habit he quickly recognized from their teenage years that signaled an approaching orgasm. “Are you gonna come?” He asked, reaching up to pull his hair tightly. When he felt the tiniest of nods, he reached his free hand down between them, jerking and stroking Harry’s cock as his eyes were pinched shut.

He meant the world to him. Louis could hardly breathe watching him and swore he felt his heartbeat match every single movement Harry made. His massive erection between them was pulsing and throbbing - red and angry, sticking out from his well-manicured southern curls and already leaking tiny beads of precome as Harry just whined and begged, forgoing using actual words. 

He understood. Louis understood why Troy sent an armada for Helena. He understood Cleopatra clutching snakes to her breasts rather than live a life without Marc Antony. He understood why Romeo would drink poison and why Juliet so happily rushed upon her blade. He would die for this boy. He would kill for this boy. He would never ever hurt him or deny him anything ever again. He could picture himself burying bodies for Harry - or robbing banks just for the opportunity to drape him with jewels and fuck him upon piles of money. Strangely, those images were just as moving and conceptually erotic as one day seeing Harry with a baby in his arms. A baby they would call _theirs._ He could see the two of them screaming about curtains. He could see them in their forties, dancing at Deacon’s wedding only to sneak away and suck each other off in one of the dressing rooms. He wanted everything with him.

Just his mere presence atop his lap was enough to end Louis’ life altogether. This much love couldn’t be sensible or healthy, he thought before he realized just how hard and quickly he was stroking Harry’s cock, allowing just a bit of spit to leak from his bottom lip, joining the approaching come. 

“Louiiiiis!” Harry finally wailed, leaning forward. His body curled in on him as he came screaming into his tattooed chest, Louis’ free arm wrapped around him. The other hand was still clasped around the tip as he shot warm into Louis’ fingers. The room and the world spun around him, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the couch. His mind spun with waves of cold and warmth cascading through his blood as he suddenly felt the couch beneath him, his legs pushed back against it.

The white fabric was soft on his back as Louis kissed his mouth as Harry soaked in his post-orgasmic haze, enjoying the long-forgotten sensation of being ferociously pounded into by a frantic Louis. He came as well, this time whispering and coughing Harry’s name between his sweat-soaked lips. Deep in his heart, he missed the feeling of Louis coming inside him from their younger days, but knew it would return soon. Everything would be back how it should be. Everything was perfect. They were home; a wet beautiful forehead against his chin as they both struggled to find their breath.

Harry choked it back at first, but whenever the chin on his chest lifted to meet his gaze and he finally locked eyes with Louis again, he lost it, tears bursting forth and finally streaking his cheeks. Trying desperately, he pinched his eyes shut and reached to cover his face, but Louis caught his hand. 

“Hazza, it’s okay,” he attempted to soothe him, let him know it was okay to just cry. Harry wasn’t even “just crying.” Harry was openly sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed. “I’m so sorry. It’s just,” he coughed. “It’s a lot. It’s a lot.”

“Hey,” Louis kissed his cheeks and lips to rid them of any unnecessary tears. “Don’t apologize. I like ‘a lot.” He pressed his lips forcefully onto Harry’s, grateful to finally garner a weak smile from him as he pulled out.

Removing the condom, he tied it off and lobbed it gently over the back of the couch, making a fatigued mental note to trash it later, but for now he didn’t want to move. He had no intentions of ever leaving Harry’s side ever again if he could help it. Earlier, while furiously fucking his boyfriend, he’d wiped the spunk off of his hand onto some pillow he was content tossing in the rubbish.

Both of them nude save for their socks, they laid together, Louis’ hands in his hair as he placed his lips between Louis’ pecs.

“Lou?” Harry’s voice was fragile, almost childlike as he pulled his arms around him tighter, clasping his hands to his chest. 

“Yeh?”

“I’m cold.”

“I got you, love,” he comforted and sat up only long enough to grab the thick down blanket he’d wrapped around Harry earlier, glad it was large enough to cover them both. He felt Harry curl forward into him even more. A gentle kiss met his knuckles accompanied by a soft, relieved breath and an exhausted smile before the two fell fast and hard, both asleep in back in love.

* * *

There was some far off rhythmic buzzing - a humming, pulsing sound - that finally roused Harry. Next to him was a warm, but smaller, sleeping body but he wasn’t in his bedroom nor Zayn’s. He instead found himself in a strange new environment that seemed to be only black and white and was surrounded by avant garde art and oversized windows.

“Hello there handsome,” he heard a voice and a dizzying level of contented ecstasy washed over him as he realized last night and this morning had not been a dream. It had not been some cruel trick by the universe. Louis was here, half-asleep by his side, stretching on his immense couch. It was Louis’ chest he was resting his head on. Louis’ right arm wrapped around him, giving him a quick squeeze.

“Hi,” Harry sighed softly, smiling as Louis kissed his forehead, then gently bit the tip of his nose. They were still completely naked, curled around each other on the couch with a DVD menu rotating in silence on the television. “Your phone’s ringing in your trousers, I think.”

“Don’t care. I’m sure my management is freaking out right now but that can be dealt with on Monday.”

From outside the windows, he could see the sun was setting; gray December clouds moving in over London.

“What time is it?” He asked, stretching, and Louis glanced toward his cable box.

“Looks like almost six,” he chuckled.

“Fuck, are you serious?” Harry questioned and Louis replied with an almost proud nod. “We slept for six hours?”

“I mean, we were up really late and hardly went to bed. Makes sense. Plus we needed it.” The two said nothing for a brief moment, allowing themselves to just savor the feeling of being back together, Louis rubbing his thumb on the outside of Harry’s arm. “Plus, I don’t think I’ve slept that peacefully in years. You hungry?”

“Ohmigod I am starving,” Harry couldn’t respond fast enough, his heart inflating at the sight of Louis’ endeared smile. He wanted to kiss him so bad it almost hurt, but he was also sweaty and sticky and they both smelled a bit like latex. “I’m also in desperate need of a shower.”

“Well tell ya what,” Louis landed a quick smack on Harry’s backside from above the thick blanket, “why don’t you go grab a shower and I’ll order dinner. Pizza or Chinese?”

“Geez, I haven’t had Chinese in forever.”

"Well what would you want?” 

It was stirring, how fast they sank into the simplicity of couplehood, Harry talking aloud as Louis seemed content to just stare at him, drawing small invisible doodles on his arm as he thought.

“I guess maybe chicken with mushrooms. Ooh or if they have sweet and sour chicken or orange chicken, that would work, too. I like teriyaki but my stomach does NOT and-”

“Do you want to move in with me?” Louis interrupted. Harry’s words were suddenly locked in his throat as he whipped his head to gape at him. 

“Wh-what?”

“Live here. With me and Deacon.” The room was bereft of any air as he struggled for any words. He wanted to. More than anything. Wake up with Louis. Make him breakfast. Put SOME pops of color in the room. They’d watch romantic comedies even though Louis probably still hated them. He could make dinner and clean up while Louis gave Deacon a bath and they’d put him to bed together before retiring themselves. They’d have sex and one would tell the other to try and be quiet so they wouldn’t wake up the toddler. 

But there were other… problems he would have to deal with.

“I… I can’t.”

“Oh.” Louis was never as good at masking his feelings as he thought. Harry was certain that his boyfriend thought he was hiding his hurt and disappointment as he shrugged. “Yeah, it’s kind of fast. I get it. I mean, we just got back together and…. Ya know what? Just forget I asked.”

“I meant that, like, with Zayn and I just getting started, we’re still barely paying all our bills when we pool our money together and if I suddenly moved out, it would _really_ fuck him over.”

“Oh!” His beaming sunshine smile. “Okay, that makes sense.”

“I’d just want to talk to him and give him time to find someone else or get a new place.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, “talking to Zayn. That, erm, that should be fun.” He rolled his eyes as Harry sat up, kissing him quickly.

“We’ll worry about that later. I’m gonna take a shower. Get me orange chicken?”

“Will do,” he promised, shamelessly ogling his ass as he left the room.

It was about an hour later that they found themselves wrapped back in the blanket. Harry had planned ahead, bringing a change of clothes in a small backpack. He felt a little lazy wearing in pyjamas before eight, but the plate of chicken and rice and spring rolls before them on the coffee table helped calm his guilt. _Top Gear_ was on the television, but neither of them were paying attention to whatever challenge was at hand, the two talking about everything and nothing.

“Can’t believe you still have the hat,” Louis fawned, playfully shoving at Harry with a socked foot.

“Huh?”

“I recognized the hat - that fedora?” Harry giggled in a moment of realization, nodding as Louis continued. “Yeah Zayn’s brooding around a Sony party wearing some hipster hat I got you for your birthday.” 

“Oh my God,” Harry laughed harder. “You’re right!”

“ _Louis loves Harry_ written Sharpie on the inside and he’s telling me he got it at a thrift shoppe.”

“That slutty little liar,” he narrowed his eyes. “And don’t be daft. As mad as I was, I’d never get rid of that hat. I love it,” he cooed, accepting a gentle, closed mouth kiss from Louis who was currently finishing some MSG-laced nightmare. “Plus I look _really_ good in it.”

“You always did.”

“Have you, erm,” Harry sat his plate back down as he felt himself getting full, “have you spoken to your management or anyone yet? About us?”

“Me mum called. She’s thrilled and then Deacon tried to eat a crayon because the purple looked like it would be the yummiest,” Louis beamed. “I haven’t talked to anyone in me professional life yet. Just want to enjoy being with you before people start trying to make me feel bad about it.” Harry smiled painfully - even _the idea_ of the public or anyone in Louis’ corner disapproving hurt. Louis stared for just a moment. “Our selfie has over half a million likes, though. Lots of pride flags in the comments,” Harry’s green eyes brightened. “I just wanna be with you. Sod everyone else, you know that, right?”

“I don’t want you to lose anything you’ve worked so hard for because of,” he flitted his hand back and forth, “this.”

"This,” Louis mimed the gesture, “is worth it all. It’s why I tolerated all the bullshit. So one day I could have it. And I want it now. With you.” He stuck out his tongue. Harry softened, smiling a bit as they scooted closer together, the blanket draped over the two of them. He was downright snuggly, burrowing into his warm spot on Louis’ chest. The heartbeat beneath the thick jumper was the sound of heaven and Harry knew he would stay here forever if it were possible. Louis slowly combed his fingers through his hair and Harry shut his eyes, savoring the sensation.

It reminded them both so much of their teenage years, intimacy tumbling into frantic passion. All it took was Louis tenderly massaging his scalp getting more and more intense and rough. Soon, Harry had snaked his hand into the singer’s trackies, gently stroking him to hardness until they were furiously making out and grinding against each other on the couch, pulling at their suddenly unnecessary clothes.

“Take me to bed. Please,” Harry begged from underneath Louis as he sucked a dark, job-ruining love bite into his shoulder.

Louis grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him up and practically dragging him into his room. The heat between them was palpable, Louis on his knees above Harry, sucking him off until he came screaming his name at a volume he would have never dared to attempt at his own flat, the thin walls a constant consideration. This place was Louis’ own. Every square foot. 

Harry’s heart beamed with pride and sentimentality when Louis swallowed and told him he tasted the exact same as he had three years ago. Louis could remember _that._

Louis, fortunately, didn’t have to remember covering his boyfriend’s mouth as they made love as they did in the past. Harry was allowed to paint the walls with the sounds of his ecstasy, bent over on all fours in his snapback while Louis rimmed him and fucked him again. He shouted Louis’ name. He sobbed and begged and moaned into the dark night. Louis pounded harshly into the younger but taller boy before Harry was even capable of getting hard again, building him up to a second wailing orgasm. Harry was grateful that Louis had thought to shag him on top of the comforter and a throw blanket, his several ropes of white cum creating a gooey, sticky mess beneath him. Louis had come already, a gentleman who kept thrusting for several minutes following his own finish, tugging ferociously at his boyfriend’s cock.

The two collapsed, Harry giggling in Heaven with his face pressed into the pillow. Louis tossed the throw blanket off of his bed. They were both winded, panting and covered in sweat, Louis’ fringe dripping onto his forehead.

“Holy shit,” he chuckled, his chest glistening with the small amount of light from his windows, heaving up and down as he struggled to catch his breath. Louis smirked at Harry. “I thought… I thought I’d missed you before. I feel like we’ve been throwing me prick a Welcome Home party.”

Harry exhaustedly pantomimed a confetti cannon, eliciting another laugh from Louis. He was so in love with this perfect man. The love of his life. The only one-

A strange guilt choked at his heart, making every ounce of the blooming affection he felt drop cold to his knees. Louis _could have_ been his only. But he wasn’t. Because Harry had been lonely and weak and slutty.

“Louis, I-” He sucked in a harsh, miserable breath. “Zayn and I…”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Zayn and I… we, erm, we’ve fucked a few times.” They froze for just a moment. Harry was waiting for a reaction, Louis mulling his. Second after second drug by, until he knew for sure Louis was falling out of love with him. He scrambled. “We never dated or were boyfriends or anything. It was only ever casual and we were just friends and flatmates and we always used condoms and I - I mean, it really wasn’t a big deal.”

“Harry-”

“But I feel like if I didn’t tell you, it would be something that I’d like, _kept_ from you and then suddenly it’s this huge deal and I don’t want-”

“Harry!”

“I don’t want to do that, but I know you two were ALSO sleeping together and it can make this messy but-”

“HAZ!” Louis finally shouted and reached out to cover Harry’s mouth, his smile having returned before he moved to stroke Harry’s still damp cheek. “You forgave _me._ I slept with A LOT of people while we were apart. And had a kid. And you forgave me. You shagged your flatmate a few times. It’s fine. There’s nothing to really forgive. We were… we were apart.”

“Really? I’d understand if it wasn’t okay.”

“It’s - I mean, in a way, I’m kind of glad.” He scooted closer to Harry. “I’m glad he was there to make you happy and make you feel good before we found our way back to each other. It’s not like I wanted you to be just… solitary and suffering the whole time. Plus,” he shuffled further down into the bed, “there are worse fucks you could go for than Zayn, am I right?”

“Louis?” He groggily whispered.

“Yes?”

“We’re not comparing notes about shagging one of my best friends while I’m falling asleep. I’ll get nightmares.”

“Fair enough,” he gave him a final, lengthy kiss on his pink, exhausted puckered lips. “Goodnight, babe.”

* * *

A few hours after midnight, Louis slowly awakened to a surprising wet, pulling sensation in his lower abdomen and crotch. It was only a few minutes, after fighting through the deep sleep he’d been in, that he realized his dick was in Harry’s mouth.

“Are you…” he chuckled sleepily, admiring how the moonlight streamed across his boy’s curls and made his hair look so dark and shiny as he bobbed his head, “are you suckin’ me off while I’m asleep?”

“Is it that obvious?” He sarcastically replied.

“Some people wouldn’t be okay with it,” Louis breathed out jokingly, “without me permission?” Harry immediately froze, letting the dripping, completely hard cock spring away from his hand where he’d been stroking it in equal time with powerful sucks. “Seems a little nonconsensual.”

“I- I mean, I obviously wanted you to wake up. I just thought it’d be a nice surprise. I’m so sorry Lou, I just wanted-”

“Harry, love, I was just takin’ the piss.” The boy seemed legitimately upset as he cracked a quick slap onto Louis’ side, pouting angrily.

“Don’t do that!” 

“I’m sorry, love.” Louis chased, rubbing his now pinkening side. “It’s fine. It’s fucking amazing. You’ve got my permission. Carry on.” Harry stared, still hurt. 

“That was mean. ”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Harry. I really am sorry.” He reached down, gently combing fingers through his hair, rubbing a soft thumb on his cheek. “We can just go back to sleep if you’re still angry with me.”

“When I start something,” Harry seethed, licking a long stripe up his shaft, Louis’ breath shuddering in the darkness. “I finish it.”

“As you were then,” he sassed and the young man got dutifully back to work. Louis didn’t bother wondering how his skill had improved so much since the novice he’d encountered three and a half years ago when his had been the first cock Harry’d ever touched, other than his own. It was immaculate, how much was being done. How Harry could knead his balls while gently stroking and pressing against the skin just between them and his ass. How he could be pumping away on his cock while bobbing his head and getting spit everywhere and circling the rim of his hole with a wet, almost seemingly impossibly spare finger. He felt loved. He felt sainted. He felt worshipped; as if his heart was getting sucked off as well. Pinching his eyes shut, it was true. He and Harry were the only two people that existed in the entire world.

Harry made sure to make him regret his earlier attitude - almost - getting him close three or four times. Louis would be right there, teetering on the edge of release, chest shaking and thighs flexing and voice whining desperately - and his beautiful boyfriend would simply stop. He was near tears when the gorgeous man between his legs finally let him come, the clock on the wall reading it was past three in the morning. Harry hummed contentedly as Louis’ load rained down the back of his throat, finishing with a small kiss on the tip of his cock, almost as if he were thanking his dick itself.

“You’re a little tart, you know that?” He giggled as he watched the boy roll over, back to him.

“You love me,” Harry chided, smiling to himself as Louis wrapped around him, kissing his shoulders as they fell back asleep.

* * *

For the two reunited boyfriends, Sunday was a cataclysmic blur. It was simply a day filled with nothing but aimless conversations about nothing and everything. It was a day filled with food, feeding each other cinnamon rolls and fruit and tea biscuits. It was a day filled with sex, Louis taking Harry in the shower and again on the stairs less than an hour later. In the end, the two wind up shagging in some way in every room except Deacon’s, seeing as having dozens of Disney characters staring directly at you while you fuck your boyfriend is understandably less than romantic.

Okay, they also didn’t shag in the pool but Christmas was in three days and Harry was more than keen to point out that an outdoor pool in Britain was impractical anyway. “You should get an indoor pool,” he cried with Louis’ lips against his neck as he had him bent over his kitchen counter. “Oh my God… we could fuck year round if you had one.”

“You say it, baby boy, and it’s yours.”

“I just want you,” he moaned, wishing he didn’t love how hard Louis was pulling his hair. He wanted it harder. More. And then he spurted ropes of spunk against the cabinets, screaming his name and thanking him as loudly as possible.

They needed to leave for Doncaster soon to get Deacon, but that mission seemed like a far off memory. Harry was yet again blowing him, the two almost too exhausted to move much. It seemed like more of a form of fawning now, just loving on him, lazy licking and sucking and staring at the beautiful cock in his hands. Sitting, admiring what it was like. They were back together. This was truly happening. He could run his tongue up this pretty shaft whenever he liked, spitting gently on the tip of Louis’ dick and watch as the bubbles from his mouth mixed with pearly beads of precome that were slowly seeping from the flawless slit on the head.

They were on his bed, Louis staring lovingly down at him, his fingers once again twisted into his dark curls. He could do this forever. He could stare at Harry forever - the current sexual event taking place between them did not matter in the slightest. He could and would love this boy forever. The question was already in his mind.

Was it too early to start saving for a ring? To start looking for a replacement roommate for Zayn? To start searching for a home that could be theirs together? To have him sleep over with Deacon in the home? How soon was too soon to start working on forever?

“I love you,” Harry sighed, fatigue on his tongue as he sweetly beheld Louis’ cock, stroking slowly, his wet lips chapped and overused and puffy and almost red by now.

"I-” Louis wasn’t able to finish his thoughts. The two both jumped as the sound of his doorbell rung through the house, startling them out of their reverie. Next to him, Louis’ phone buzzed a single time. 

“Who on Earth could that be?” Harry whined, frowning slightly as Louis rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure it’s just some religious nut coming to-” he spoke to himself as he reached for his phone. _Front doorbell activity_. He clicked the notification, only to suddenly gasp, “Oh fuck, it’s me Mum. It’s me Mum and Deacon. Fuck fuck fuck,” he lifted Harry up away from the still-very-hard-and-obvious erection and fumbled for his slacks.

“What?” Harry pouted, standing up. “I thought you were going to pick up Deacon later.” Why was he whispering? He nearly smiled for a moment upon realizing how much this felt like their teenage years, scrambling for jeans and t-shirts as soon as one heard their mum’s key fumbling in the front door lock.

"Yeah I’m not even due to leave for another hour. What the fuck?” Pulling up his trousers, Louis then threw his shirt over his head, grateful that Harry had tossed his own larger hoodie onto the floor nearby. He grabbed it and tossed it over his sex-mussed hair. It hung low enough that it covered the obvious bulge and he blew Harry a kiss as he pulled it down, arranging it. The small gesture simply wasn’t enough, so he walked over and pressed his lips against his.

“I love you, but you need to go brush ya teeth and wash your face because you smell like my balls.”

"How gentlemanly.”

“Me mum’s not an idiot. Please? She’s gonna hug you and I don’t want to subject her to that.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“I’m lucky I’ve got you. Now go. Please. Mouthwash, too.”

Harry did as he was told and Louis bounded into the grand foyer to finally open the door.

Jay stood there, smile just as big and wide as Louis’ and her daughters’, a very excited three-year-old holding her hand.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, Deakie bee!” He cooed, reaching out and picking him up.

“Hey Mum,” and he leaned forward to give her a kiss and Jay completely failed at hiding a small laugh.

“My Goodness, you’re quite sweaty and flushed.”

“Mum-”

“You look tired, love. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Their matching blue eyes bore knowing holes into each other’s gaze.

“You know you are, Mum,” he smirked. “You’re here a wee bit early.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but if I’m being honest, I was worried you wouldn’t bring Harry when you came to pick up Deacon and I’ve been dying to see ‘im. Lottie and Fizz say he’s gorgeous now.”

“He is.”

“Well,” Jay didn’t bother waiting for an invitation in and quickly walked into Louis’ home, setting Deacon’s backpack against the wall amidst the shoes. “Where is he?”

“Heyyy,” Harry breezed quickly into the room, doing a piss poor job of hiding that he’d been shirtless just moments before, tugging at the bottom of his black tee. “Hello Mrs. Tomlin-”

“Harry, for the millionth time, it’s just Jay. God, come here let me look at you,” she giggled a bit as he came up, now much taller than her and it seemed to entertain her wildly that she now had to look UP at him. She gently pinched his chin between her fingers, smiling softly. “Wow, me girls weren’t kidding when they said you were proper fit! Like a sculpture now, you are.”

“Mum, for the love of God…”

“I’m glad Louis came to his senses, sweetheart, I’d be lying if I said we didn’t miss you. My daughters haven’t heard a terrible joke in years.”

“My jokes aren’t terrible, Jay,” he pretended to pout, accepting her tight, lingering hug and a kiss on his cheek, Louis mouthing ‘I told you so’ from behind her.

“Those management pricks can go suck a railroad spike for all I care, them telling my boy how to behave and that who he is isn’t good enough.” She breathed into their embrace, smelling like the comforting mom figure she’d been for him three years ago. She sighed happily, patting Harry’s back. 

“Oh, welcome home, love.”

* * *

Luckily, she didn’t linger for long. She stayed for a spot of tea and to grill Harry on everything he’d been up to since Louis’ audition and even claimed to have seen the terrible pet store ad. “I knew that was you!” She cooed. “I almost rung Anne I was so certain!”

The mums had - of course - slowly drifted apart in the wake of Louis’ fame and the boys’ less-than-amicable separation, but the thought of them rekindling their friendship warmed Harry’s heart. She gave both of them and Deacon too many kisses before she left, thanking Louis once again for coming to his senses.

In Louis’ home, the air was suddenly, markedly different. His _child_ was there, wide-eyed and staring at Harry, who less than three hours prior, had his father’s dick in his mouth. He was indeed the spitting image of Louis, looking exactly like the small child he’d seen in the pictures that lined the Tomlinson home. Squinty blue eyes, a chili bowl of brown hair and a smile of a child who was desperate to run off and get into all kinds of mischief. 

“Oy lad!” Louis barked, leaning in from the kitchen. “Whatcha thinking for dinner?”

Harry stared, unsure if Louis was asking him or his son.

“Can we has pizza?” Deacon piped up, taking the cue to march away from Harry and climb onto the overstuffed white couch. Luckily his shoes were off, but Harry still found himself wondering who the hell buys a solid white couch with a three-year-old in the home?

 _Someone who just found out about him ten months ago_ , his inner voice answered. Louis had probably been living in this home for a year or two, having moved his whole life around when he got the phone call. 

“Does that work for you, darling?” Louis asked. “I know we ordered in last night, but maybe this weekend is about celebrating,” his smile was limitless and Harry echoed the same expression.

“Yeah, pizza’s great. If I have a say, I’d like-”

“Is it still mushroom, onions and pepperoni?”

“Um,” he couldn’t hold bac\ a traitorous blush. “Yes.”

“Do you wan watch Bampire Hotel wif me?” Deacon piped from the couch, the television remote looked gigantic in his petite hands, his tiny feet swinging as they stuck off the edge. Harry’s eyes contorted in confusion, sending a pleading glance to Louis who was still in the kitchen.

“ _Hotel Transylvania_ is a bit difficult for a toddler.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded and walked up to sit next to the small child. “I would _love_ to watch Vampire Hotel with you.”

The pizza arrived twenty minutes later, Deacon seemingly glued to Harry, who had been forbidden twice from even standing to use the bathroom.

“No. You stay here,” he’d commanded, his chubby little fingers pinching tightly onto his arm and pulling him back down to the couch. It was only when he’d had to go potty himself that he seized the opportunity. Louis walked his son to the nearest bathroom and Harry made quick work of rushing into Louis’ bathroom and peeing as fast as possible. He washed his hands speedier than he ever had and was luckily back in his spot before Deacon returned.

“So, erm, what all does he know? About things?” Harry later asked quietly as the child was enraptured by the screen. Occasionally, his heavy baby eyelids would close, sleep beckoning him, but he was fighting it.

“What do you mean?” Louis stretched a bit, legs intertwined with his new boyfriend’s.

“Like, about what boyfriends means?” 

Louis shrugged.

“I mean, he’s two. He doesn’t really pay it any mind. He’s seen a few guys take me on dates and he knows Mummy was a girl. I’ve told him you can love who you want, so long as they love you back.”

“You’re a great dad,” Harry whispered. The lights were off and Deacon was faltering in his battle with the Sandman.

“I have to be,” Louis brushed the compliment away as if someone had just told him he did a great job folding laundry or filling his car with petrol. As if it were something anyone could do. “I mean, when I got him, he’d lost the only parent he ever had. He’s got this amazing therapist for kids his age. They just play with toys and talk and she helps him get through the change and understand what’s happened. Luckily he wasn’t with her when she died.” 

The two looked over at him. Deacon had officially lost - he was out cold. Harry slowly leaned him over, laying his tiny head on one of the throw pillows and tossing the black chenille blanket over his petite frame. His lips were puckered, adorable and pink and making him look like a baby angel. Now, you’d never know he’d ever experienced any trauma at all.

Harry now snuggled closer to Louis, pulling the thicker gray blanket over the two of them, his dark hair soft against the thickness of Louis’ sweatshirt. He slotted himself between the musician’s thin legs.

“Car accident, right?” He mumbled, and Louis nodded, once again stroking through the dark curls, gently scratching his scalp.

“How’d you know?”

“I told you - I’d been following you in the papers. Found out about him when the rest of the world did.”

“So, like, three days after I found out about him meself?” Harry shrugged. He couldn’t help what the media had reported to everyone. “Yeah, it was a bit crazy. Hadn’t really spoken to her in like, two and a half years and all the sudden I had a kid. I still felt like a kid.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Who?” Louis voice was a low gravel, both of them careful to just let Deacon sleep as the movie neared the end. “Sonya?” Harry nodded. Louis shifted his weight back, letting Harry lean more on his chest. “Well, she was…” he sighed, searching for the right words to say about the girl he’d barely known who’d changed his life so much. 

“So I had just left you and I was eighteen sodding years old. They were on me to start dating someone on the show - anyone. I didn’t understand they meant a fellow contestant for publicity, but there was a girl in the wardrobe department. Ya know, responsible for picking out our outfits for the performances? Apparently on some study-abroad internship from Argentina. And she was cute and nice and she…” he sounded so suddenly defeated. “She reminded me of you.”

Harry’s head snapped up.

“Big green eyes. Massive smile. Dimples. Curly brown hair and legs for days. Plus, I mean, yes she had a cute butt, too.”

  
“Okay...” Harry chided him.

“It wasn’t just that. She was funny and liked terrible jokes. She liked a lot of the same bands you did and it just - I convinced meself maybe I could just pretend she was you. She was as close as I was allowed to get and still stay in the show’s good graces. So I did. We kind of dated and slept together on and off until I won and they sent me on tour and it was just hard to keep in touch. So we fell out and while I thought of her fondly, I thought of her less and less until I hadn’t at all in several months. Then back in February, I get a phone call that my son’s mother has been killed in a car crash.” Harry squeezed his arm comfortingly. “Didn’t even know I had a son.”

“So you just took him in?”

“Me mum helped with a lot of it - she still had the twins’ cribs so gave me one, came and stayed with me for a few weeks while I got to know ‘im.”

“Why didn’t… like, if it’s a sore subject and you don’t wanna talk about it… why didn’t she tell you?”

“I wondered that meself. I’ve written a few e-mails to her family and finally got the courage to ask. They said she liked me and knew I was a good man. A good person. She found out she was pregnant after I had left for the tour and knew that if she told me, I’d come back. That I would try and put her and the baby first. It would have destroyed my career. And she wanted me to achieve my dreams and everything I was capable of and not… put my dreams aside because of a silly teenage mistake. That and-” he seemed more chastened by the following, “if I wanted to be with her, I’d have been with her. And she didn’t want me coming back _just because_ she was pregnant. Wouldn’t be real then. But luckily, she’d told him about me and he’d seen me in music videos and knew I was his Dad, so he was pretty chuffed to finally meet me. Probably softened the blow of losing his mum.”

“That’s a lot for a kid to go through,” Harry mumbled into Louis’ chest as he turned to look up at him. “I’m glad he has you.”

“Honestly, that’s probably why he called you Mum. She reminded me of you, so I bet you remind him of her.”

“He called me _Mummy_ , thank you very much,” Harry chuckled. 

“It works. Mummy suits you very well.” Harry’s eyes were full of hearts as he stared up at Louis, who brushed a few curls out of his face. 

“Do you…” Harry began before abruptly closing his mouth. “Nevermind.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s silly. I’m being presumptuous. Let’s just watch the movie.”

“Deacon is asleep and I’ve had to watch this bloody cartoon eighty thousand times. I don’t give a fuck. What were you going to ask?”

“Do you ever think you’ll wanna have more kids?”

“Harry,” his voice was so comforting. Louis’ eyes became even more crinkled and softer as he looked down at him. Their lips connected for a quick moment, his boyfriend’s thumb gentle on his chin. “I would _love_ to have babies with you one day. It would be my greatest honor.”

Harry craned his neck upwards to kiss him again, his heart thundering. _Louis wanted to have babies with him! Louis wanted to move in with him! Louis was totally in love with him!_

They’d been back together less than forty-eight hours and things were so perfect. So breakable. So fragile and he knew they should be proceeding with caution - being more careful. They shouldn’t be making so many big declarations and promises. They should be walking on eggshells.

“Louis...” he mumbled into his lips, feeling his light stubble brush against his chin. He mumbled a quick _‘Mmm-hmm?’_ Letting the kiss linger much longer than they should with a sleeping three-year-old four feet away on this massive couch. “We need to be careful with each other. We shouldn’t-”

“Oh hush, we’re doing just fine,” he whispered, bringing a calloused hand up to Harry’s jaw. He ended their kiss with a delightfully chaste nip at Harry’s nose. “But you are somewhat right,” another quick smooch on his forehead. “Let’s just watch the movie. You ever seen it?”

Harry smiled. “I actually haven’t.”

And the two turned their attention back to the enormous television, Harry’s ass soft against the flacid warmth of Louis’ sweatpant-clad crotch. His boyfriend’s petite, skilled hands were quite hot atop his t-shirt, his thumb gently stroking his belly. 

It was delightfully intimate and domestic - the sleeping toddler next to them, the movie his father is sick of playing on their television, delivered pizza cooling on the counter. Harry shut his eyes and enjoyed the moment, his blood suddenly flushing cold when he felt Louis’ hand descended further and snaked its way into the waistband of his pants.

“Louis…”

“Shhhh,” his breath was hot against the back of Harry’s head, making his curls feel almost damp. Every single hair on his skin stood on end, his goosebumps in no way caused by the chilly air outside. His eyes darted quickly over to Deacon, who was completely passed out. An ice cream truck could explode sprinkles outside and he wouldn’t move but still, this felt incredibly scandalous.

Louis’ thin fingers brushed only momentarily against the soft curls of his pubic hair before taking hold of his cock, which he felt slightly guilty was already half-hard just from the knowledge that his boyfriend’s hands were near. Harry started to turn around to face him, but was caught off guard when Louis gave him one slow, firm stroke. He could literally feel every drop of blood drain from his brain and rush downward. Louis’ free hand was soft, catching his jaw and forcing his jaw back towards the television. 

“I said watch the movie. Do as you’re told.” The words hit him like ice water.

He felt almost dizzy, breathing slowly outward as his chest shook. He wanted so desperately to look at Louis; to marvel at the stubble on his face and the blueness of his eyes and the passage of time on his skin, but he didn’t dare turn around.

There was no denying his attraction now, his erection large and obvious and unmistakably hard, reminding him of concrete and marble and everything unforgiving and unrelenting.

“There we go,” Louis whispered, spreading the already frothy precum around the tip, stroking and spreading it around. “That’s an obedient boy.”

He could die right here. All he could suddenly picture was himself standing up and dragging Louis to his bedroom and bending him over. He hadn’t yet fucked Louis. Not when they were teens and not yet this weekend. It had never happened before in reality, but the fantastical images that suddenly flooded his mind were too much. It had never happened, but he wanted to top him.

“Oh fuck…” He pinched his eyes shut.

“If you wake him up,” Louis spat into his ears, “I’m gonna have to stop immediately.”

“N-no,” his voice shook, along with his head. He kept his voice low, even below a whisper. “Please don’t stop.”

“Maybe I’ll pack you up and send you home. Wouldn’t even let you come.” Louis recalled his hands from around Harry’s cock and he heard the obvious sound of someone quietly spitting. When his grip returned, it was much wetter and he hissed. He relaxed even more, resting his head back on Louis’ warm chest.

“Louis…” He shut his eyes, rolling them back into his head as he relished in the slow, silent handjob. He could only shake his head frantically.

“Better behave yourself then, eh?” He commanded and Harry nodded, sitting back up and staring straight forward.

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh I fuckin’ like that,” his voice still cascaded into his hair and down Harry’s neck. His hands gave twists around his dick, gradually moving a bit faster. He didn’t fathom risking anything, darting his eyes back and forth between Deacon and the television, making sure the child was still unmoving and unaware.

He and Louis were both covered up to their chests in a blanket. If the child awoke, Harry knew he wouldn’t see anything or be remotely aware of what they were doing. Louis would simply stop and pull his hand away. He would stop. He would stop this bliss that made Harry’s toes curl and turned his brain into barely capable goo.

Harry pinched his eyes shut, suddenly overcome with memories. This was how they’d began four years before. 

_Gemma had come home to celebrate her nineteenth birthday with him and their mum before begging to be allowed to host a sleepover for her childhood friends. She was still away at Uni and hadn’t seen them in years. Their mum had allowed it, especially because she’d been scheduled on the night shift anyway and wouldn’t be kept awake by their shenanigans. While she wasn’t normally drawn to stereotypical, almost Bachelorette-party-like teenage girl behavior, tonight was the apparent exception._

_Once their giggling and shrieking had become too much for him, he’d invited Louis over. They were only friends, Harry merely a schoolboy with a merciless crush. And Louis? He was not yet eighteen and still playing straight at the time, causing jealousy to run cold through Harry’s blood as Gemma’s friends fawned over him. He was much closer to their age and a quite skilled flirt._

_The girls pretty much refused to allow him to leave the room - and that was how they’d wound up sitting next to each other on his mother’s overstuffed sectional couch watching 300, of all movies. Everyone had seen it several times, one of Gemma’s future history teacher friends urging everyone to drink whenever there was a historical inaccuracy. All fifteen-year-old Harry could focus on were the oiled-up Spartans in their leather underwear, jumping and fighting and sprinting like a pack of Greek gods. It was too much and he was caught - Louis reaching across his lap for the popcorn and, despite how strategically he’d arranged the blanket, he brushed up against Harry’s guilty teenage boner. The first time Louis had touched him in a way that wasn’t completely platonic. His eyes had suddenly snapped up to meet Harry, who now struggled to hold back tears. Louis had merely whispered “it’s okay,” to him before excusing himself for a brief moment. When he returned, his breath smelled a bit more like vodka than it had when he’d left. He chose not to sit next to him, but wedged himself behind him - just like he was now four years later in his epic abode._

_Seventeen-year-old Louis had been more brash, pulling Harry’s blanket over the two of them and within a few seconds became the first person, other than Harry himself, to ever touch his cock. The first person to give him an orgasm, Harry staring at the screen as hard as he could, biting his lip until he tasted blood, eyes watering as Louis jerked him off. He couldn’t contain a single simple moan when he came inside his own pants less than five minutes later and Gemma seemed rather concerned. He claimed he felt sick and almost ran to his bedroom, happy when Louis followed a few minutes later at her insistence to “check on him.” That had also been the night that Harry sucked his first dick ever, Louis’ teenage hands fisting into his hair, back against his bedroom door. Within the next few minutes, he had finished and they had become secret boyfriends, never leaving the bedroom until Gemma had tipsily stumbled in around four in the morning. She woke Louis with her cackling at the sight of the two of them in bed together. She forced him to go home lest Anne catch them and she bear the ultimate punishment for having allowed this. “I’m basically supposed to be babysitting him and you’re here… corrupting my baby brother.” She’d stuck out her tongue. “He likes you. Now go home before you both get caught and you fuck this up for him.”_

But he still had. He had fucked up once and Harry prayed his heart was safe. Louis would never break his heart ever again. This time, there was no responsible older sister to make Louis leave. No one would make him leave ever again if Harry had a say in it.

He stroked harder and faster, Harry doing his best to stay quiet, instead writhing in waves against Louis’s equally painful yet ignored erection.

“Louis, I---” He bellowed, louder than he meant, startling a bit as Louis slapped a hand over his lips, keeping his mouth shut. Keeping Harry quiet.

“I said be quiet, didn’t I?” Harry nodded, eyes glistening as his orgasm stirred and pooled, burning magma in his stomach. “Are you close?” Another nod in response to the Northern voice that reminded him so much of smoldering steel. “You’re just gonna make a complete mess and come all over yourself like some lovesick teenager, aren’t you?” _Oh fuck._ Harry fucked up into Louis’ clenched fist, the scorching climax in his abdomen no longer stoppable. Louis’ fingers were pressing far too hard into his cheeks, hand still clamped over Harry’s mouth.

As hard as he tried and no matter how much effort he put in, he couldn’t stop himself. The sound was muffled but Harry couldn’t hold back from screaming forth a long, drawn-out moan as he came, amazed his cock still had anything left to give after the weekend they’d had.

“There ya go,” Louis still stroked him off. He sighed into the dewy sweat of Harry’s forehead, the light stubble of his beard brushing against his temple. “That’s a good boy.” And he kissed his cheek, darting a quick look to their right where Deacon was still sound asleep, never having even moved.

Harry shook in the glorious buzz of aftershocks, watching in ecstasy as Louis calmly pulled his cum-covered hand out of his pants and made quite a long show of sucking the jizz off of one of his skilled, scandalous fingers.

“Oh, Jesus…” Harry’s knees weakened even further if it were possible and Louis merely winked.

Louis then stood up from behind him, his length engorged and at full mast within his joggers. He said nothing, walking into the kitchen to silently wash his hands as the movie still played on. Harry’s arms and legs and blood and bones were mere jelly.

The musician soon returned, rounding the edge of the couch and picking up the sleeping toddler, brushing his arm sweetly and kissing the top of his resting head.

“I’m gonna go tuck him in and do bedtime. Go to my room. Clean yourself up and get on my bed. I’ll be in there soon to take care of you properly.”

He couldn’t tell when or how they’d slipped into Louis ordering him around like a mindless little sex puppet but he kind of liked it. He liked it when, while sitting on Louis’s comforter in his bedroom, he heard Deacon’s door shut and his heart began beating so fast he was sure he would pass out. He liked it when Louis entered the room and immediately locked the door and gently gripped Harry’s jaw, kissing him as he pushed him back on the bed. He liked Louis allowing Harry’s hands to frantically undress him.

He loved how intoxicated Louis sounded when he reminded Harry they needed to be quiet so as not to wake up “the baby.” It was too much. He wanted this every night for the rest of its life. He loved it when Louis spread his legs and entered him, cock sheathed by their very last condom, lips barely touching. It was dark, the light from Louis’ automatic fireplace illuminating so little. He loved that Louis took the time and put in the effort to actually make love to him, hands roaming and kisses on his neck, pinning his hands into the immense soft pillows above his head as he gradually pounded harder and faster. He loved hearing his voice chant “Harry, Harry, Haaaa-aaarry” like some sinful mantra. He loved hearing Louis talk about he couldn’t wait to fuck him bare and finish deep inside and watch his own spunk drip from inside of him. He loved how passionately Louis brought them both to orgasm, moaning quietly and desperately, his cock pulsing within him.

But more than anything, he just loved him. He loved Louis.

* * *


	2. Epilogue

Three months later, they finally got to have their first weekend away. Jay and Anne had seized the opportunity as well, packing their bags for a “Mums & Babies trip” with all their sisters and Deacon. They were going to Crosby Beach, almost a little too excited for their Girls “and Deacon” Weekend. Louis seemed increasingly nervous, but Harry knew he had never been away from his son for more than a single evening and tried to calm him on their drive out.

The British countryside in Spring was gorgeous, trees leaning over their cars as Louis drove, Harry’s large hands rubbing his leg. It wasn’t meant to be sexual, more comforting, and every now and then Louis would shoot Harry a small, soft smile for no reason other than they were finally together. There would be plenty of time for salaciousness after check-in. Other than the weekend they’d reunited, every minute they spent together included Deacon. But it didn’t bother him. In the back of his Harry’s mind, he already considered Louis’ son as his own, but he kept the possibly overassuming thought to himself.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked after an hour or two, suddenly realizing he’d never asked. Two weeks ago, Louis had asked him if he wanted to go to a Bed & Breakfast.

“Douglas Head.”

“On the Isle of Man?!”

“Obviously,” Louis scoffed, smirking.

Harry had made sandwiches and drinks in a small cooler, the two sharing the meal about an hour before they drove aboard the ferry. He finally understood why they’d left so ridiculously early that morning - it had been a four hour drive from London to Liverpool, and the ferry itself was another three hours. It was half past three when they finally drove off the boat onto the small island, Harry offering to drive the small remaining trek, but Louis refused.

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise, Hazza.”

“I just don’t want you to be too tired when we get there.”

“It’s a weekend away and I don’t have Deak. We’ll enjoy tonight and sleep in tomorrow.”

“Where are we GOING?!” He whined, trying to pout as Louis blew him a kiss.

“Wait and see.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Bollocks. You _love_ surprises,” and he turned at a sign labeled - believe it or not - Harold Tower.

“What on Earth?” He bemused as the drove up the gray gravel path until a tall, looming castle came into view. “Oh my God, Louis, you didn’t…”

And here they were, at a castle. _A real one._ Harry’s jaw dropped as he beheld the tiny gray palace, turrets and round glass windows and a garden and a gazebo and a pool. There was a guest house and a cottage on the property as well, along with stables and a gorgeous view of the bay.

It was everything he’d always dreamed of seeing and the excited giggles from Louis went unnoticed as Harry’s jaw continued to gape, overlooking everything. 

The two exited the vehicle, Louis popping the boot as he handed his keys to a valet.

“Welcome Mr. Tomlinson,” he almost bowed, dressed like a proper butler, complete with a suit and white gloves. “And Mr. Styles,” he nodded to him, opening the massive front doors. “Your presence is celebrated here at Harold Tower.”

“Thank you…”

“You may call me Montgomery or Monty. I am one of three attendants at your disposal for your stay and I urge you not to hesitate should either of you need anything.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Louis commented as he saw a younger gentleman grabbing their bags, following them as Monty led them to their accommodations, making sure to mention they would be spending their weekend in the Royal Chambers. There was a tour for all the guests and visitors in an hour and dinner would be served in the main dining room “promptly” at half-past six and formal attire would be required. Of course, they were welcome to take their meal in their room if they so desired, but Harry’s heart bloomed at the prospect of an actual fancy Downton Abbey style dinner. He now understood why Louis had demanded they pack tuxedos - with Harry questioning if they were attending a wedding. 

Breakfast would be served at eight, lunch at noon and high tea at three.

“Oh my gosh, Louis! A high tea! This is so fancy!”

“I know.”

“I know you don’t… you’re not usually about all that pomp and circumstance stuff. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want. We can just relax and stay in our room and eat and shag.”

“Harry, you love it. And I love you. I am very much looking forward to scheduled fancy dinners and drinking tea while wearing gloves,” he tried not to roll his eyes.

“And then sex?” 

“Yes, yes. Lots of sex. Let’s change for the tour, though. We stink from the car.”

The tour took around an hour, leading Harry and Louis and approximately ten other guests through the castle. He listened intently, learning everything and marveling at both the beauty and the history of the property, which dated back to the early 1800’s. It had been a home to artists, a hotel during the Second World War. The present owners had purchased the castle nine years ago in 2005, and completely restored it _while_ modernizing it, “utilising the skills of international-renowned interior designer Jean-Louis Mainguy, stained glass expert Robert Bullock and London artist Isabelle Day, who was commissioned to undertake all the interior painting of cornices frames, trompe l’oeil, centre roses and external coat of arms.”

Louis was barely paying attention as if he’d heard it all before, instead intently keeping his gaze on Harry who gasped and oohed and ahh'd. The reclaimed parquet floor from the lounge and hall had come from the Palace Lido ballroom. There were three acres of formal gardens, three reception rooms, a cinema, a wine cellar - from which guests were enthusiastically encouraged to purchase and were welcomed to enjoy in their suites, along with five bedrooms with truly lavish bathrooms and an octagonal office with a roof terrace with sea views above. The guest house had two bedrooms and there was an additional cottage with two more bedrooms. It was a completely, all encompassing dream and Harry was almost dizzy with bliss. He liked nice things. He loved pretty things. He loved Louis.

“We should do this every year!” He cooed to Louis when they were in the massive, updated kitchen. The tour guide, however, was quick to dash his hopes.

“Unfortunately, the owners are looking to retire and the castle was recently purchased by a buyer who is hoping to make it their private family home. So Harold Tower will only be operating as a Bed & Breakfast for just a few more months.”

“Are you serious?!” He whined, grasping Louis’ hand and frowning. “Dammit.”

“It’s okay, love,” Louis said, gently kissing his hand as the tour continued onto the grounds.

“I wanted to make this one of our, like, special places.”

“We’ll figure something out. I promise,” and he gave his fingers a firm squeeze.

The tour finished outside of the gardens and the guests were welcomed to enjoy themselves until it was time for dinner. Louis thanked the tour guide, saying something Harry couldn’t quite make out, and returned to him on the grass.

“So,” Louis sighed, staring up at the gray and brown turrets, fresh bright green ivy encroached upon the centuries-old castle. It was a bit cold and he wished he’d thought more ahead, but his heart thundering in his chest helped raise his temperature just enough for his comfort. “What do you think? Did you like it?”

“You’re warm,” Harry met his stride, interlocking their fingers as he looked around the castlegrounds, walking briskly. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” he smiled. “I’m perfect. I’ve got you.”

“You’re so cheesy sometimes. I love you,” and he stuck out his tongue, leaning over to place a quick kiss on his forehead. “And yes, I loved it.” Louis watched as his boyfriend’s eyes, as green as the darkening winter grass itself, scanned the horizon. “I can’t believe kings and queens used to live here.”

“It’s not _the_ palace, love, I’m sure it was more Dukes and Lords.”

“And Duchesses and Ladies,” Harry added and Louis chuckled, biting his tongue. 

“Of course, of course.”

The two were standing in what, during springtime, was certainly a gorgeous walking garden. There were potted plants and dark brown patches of mulch meant for flowers, as well as a trellis that climbed a single outside wall and a-

“Oh look, Louis, the gazebo! Like from Sound of Music!”

“Is that really your only reference for a gazebo? They’re pretty common,” he giggled, following his much taller counterpart as he almost ran to it.

“I know but this one is a _royal_ gazebo. It’s even better than the Von Trapps!”

“Is it?” Louis asked, suddenly so nervous he was almost dizzy as he stepped to join his boyfriend in the gazebo, grateful for the break from the Douglas Head winds and chill.

He looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, which looked suddenly soulful and introspective, soft tears dampening his eyes out of nowhere.

“Hazza, are you okay?!” Louis spat, alarmed.

“I’m fine, it’s just,” he exhaled slowly. “It’s been an amazing weekend away and it’s been three phenomenal months and I wasn’t sure we’d ever, ya know…” Harry began to nervously fidget with his jacket sleeve. “There was a time in my life I was certain I’d lost you forever and now you’re here and...” Harry sniffled again.

The anxious, hesitant little boy from Doncaster took a few more steps closer to him, reaching out to take his hand and gently kiss him.

“I’m just really happy and it’s kind of scary.” And Louis felt immediately guilty. Harry should have the world. He should be made ecstatic every day of his life. His happiness shouldn’t be lost worrying about losing it all over again

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, darling.”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” Harry quickly interrupted, reaching out to pull Louis even closer, wrapping his arms around him, kissing him a bit harder this time. “We found each other again. That’s what matters.” And Lou couldn’t help but smile beneath their kiss as he noticed Harry was slightly humming some song. He pulled away from their union if only to see if the track had words. “I’m at a caaaaaastle. With my gorgeous rock star boyfriiiiiiiiend,” in his deep bellowing voice that was so much better than he realized. 

For a moment, Louis wondered if they’d have remained together had Harry come with him - auditioned for the X Factor as well. How would their lives have turned out? What great things would they have done together? He shut his eyes, picturing them together on stages and accepting awards and signing autographs. Side by side. To have been a king beside him. It would have been glorious, but fame had its own trappings and consequences he’d never wish on this beautiful Cheshire treasure.

Louis seized his moment and drew a breath, deciding now he was never going back.

“Boyfriend?” He wrinkled his nose a bit, looking up at Harry. The green-eyed boy furrowed his eyebrows, so serious and concerned compared to his expression just moments ago. “I don’t think I like you calling me your boyfriend.”

Harry took a step back.

“What the hell does that mean?” He asked, sounding more confused than angry.

“Well, we’re here,” Louis pointed to the castle now hundreds of yards away. “And you’re my _Princess_ ,” Harry bit his lip at the happy memory. “That makes me your Prince, right?” The taller boy nodded. “But what if I was your King and you were my Queen?”

He looked a bit confused again, but his eyes slowly transformed into watery, tear-filled saucers as Louis somewhat awkwardly knelt down onto a single knee.

“Oh my God,” he clasped a large hand over his pink lips, still a bit flushed from so many kisses that weekend. “Louis, what are you doing?”

“I lost you almost four years ago - because I was an idiot. I listened to managers and industry manipulators and all sorts of people who told me what was best for me, instead of listening to me heart and the people in my life who truly _want_ what’s best for me. The people who love me.” Harry was trying very hard to listen, but the words were fading in and out over the thundering sound of his heartbeat in his own ears.

“I can see in your eyes how much you love Deacon - because he’s a part of me and your heart is limitless. And he loves you. You fit back into my world so perfectly, it feels like you never left.

“But we _were_ apart. I spent several miserable years trying to convince myself that I could live without you. And the truth is, Harry, I can’t. And I promise to spend every single day making up for that lost time, reminding you that I love you. And I want _us._ I want you,” he chuckled a bit, choking back a few traitorous tears as he tried to quote Harry’s favorite movie. “I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day.”

It was now that he reached into his pocket and removed a small dark green velvet box, exhaling achingly slow, trying not to pass out. He opened it, choosing now to look back up at his - hopefully - future fiancé, who was more or less practically sobbing, tears running down his reddening cheeks. It was a gold band - that was all he could manage to see at first. Harry wiped away at his eyes and cheeks, soon noting it was more like a band of gold lace, vintage and twisting and wrapping around like vines, with tiny diamonds all throughout the filigree. 

“Harry Styles,” his light, soft voice was shaking. “Will you marry me?”

He was frozen for only a moment before dropping down to his knees to meet Louis, almost crushing him in a desperate hug, his cold fingers bringing Louis’s jaw in for another searing kiss.

“Are you kidding me? Of course! Yes! Always! Forever! Oh my God!” He mumbled between them as Louis pulled away to slide the ring on his shaking finger. “Um,” he wiped his cheeks off. “We don’t even live together yet - where will we live? Like do I move in with you and D or do you want to get our own place? Maybe in the city?”

“I was thinking,” Louis cocked his head, gesturing to the castle beyond them. “Let’s live here.”

Harry bursts out laughing, standing up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Louis. It’s a bed and breakfast and besides, the tour guide said they just sold it to some private buyer who wants to turn it into a family home and- OH MY GOD!”

“Yep,” he smirked devilishly.

“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!” 

“...bought it a week ago.”

Harry whipped his head back to stare at the massive keep. “That’s yours?!”

He shrugged, guilty and playful.

“ _Technically,_ it’s ours.” He finally brought himself to standing as well, and reached to take Harry’s hand. “Come on, let’s go home."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by the 2001 Blake Shelton song, "If This is Austin." It is an excerpt from a forthcoming fic I'm working on called TWO WEEKS.
> 
> As always, this is a work of COMPLETE fiction and in no way meant to be associated with the REAL Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik. It was more inspired by them and fandom lore. I always consider it more like a movie and they're PLAYING characters who happen to share their names.
> 
> Please do not steal or translate my work without my permission - and in no way is anyone permitted to send my work to those real people mentioned within.
> 
> Britpicking as well as pointing out typos and grammar mistakes are MORE THAN WELCOME!!!


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